The Cost of Love
by flutterby cupcake
Summary: Castiel version of The Art of Dating: Castiel has bad social anxiety. Which is a problem when you're a Novak brother, forced to schmooze with socialites. When his brothers force him to represent the family, he sees one glimmer of hope: this might be the excuse he needs to talk to the man he's been lusting over. If only he could work up the courage.
1. Chapter 1

**So, it's my thing to write stories that marry up with each other ... this is Castiel's version of The Art of Dating.**

 **Trigger warning that Castiel has social anxiety. I'm drawing from my own experiences, and from those of loved ones, but I'm aware that how Castiel reacts may not be the same as anyone else. I don't pretend to be an expert on this kind of thing either, so apologies for inaccuracy. I hope you enjoy it despite that x**

* * *

"Brother, where do you want it?"

Castiel had been walking down a hallway, towards the board room hidden behind an old Greek statue. He had presumed that no one but other board members were in the gallery, but obviously he was mistaken. He ducked behind a formaldehyde structure, and peeked out into the room where the voice was coming from. There were two men moving around, dragging sculptures into place. The slightly taller of the two, and slightly thinner, wiped his forehead and gestured across the room, away from where Castiel was hiding.

"Edith said I had that corner. Sorry, Benny."

"It's okay. You can buy the beers after." The shorter, stockier one laughed. He adjusted his flat cap, and they grabbed the sculpture once again. Castiel was intrigued. Edith was one of the gallery directors, so if one of these gentlemen knew who she was, then they needed to be there. Maybe the gallery was restructuring its contemporary wing. If Castiel could stop hiding behind this formaldehyde - oh gross, formaldehyde horse - and get into the board room, he would find out exactly what was going on. But he didn't want to be caught by these two men, to be accused to theft or worse, be recognised for who he really was. There was nothing more terrifying than being called out for being born a Novak. It would be best if he could slip by unnoticed, but whatever the structures were made of, they seemed heavy and awkward. Both men looked as though they lifted weights frequently, and they both kept pausing as they moved across the room.

"Brother, do you ever think about using something lighter than steel? Like maybe marshmallow?"

"Man up, Benny. I'm lucky enough I got in this place."

"How did that happen, anyway?"

"Sam. He managed to get one of my smaller pieces into his office. Edith was in there for alimony or something, and he hooked us up."

"Could be your big break." The guy called Benny laughed, and then huffed as they continued dragging the metal barely over the marble flooring. The guy that Castiel only knew as 'brother' at this point waited until they had stopped moving again to answer.

"That's what Sam said. We'll see."

They finally got the piece into place, and both stepped back to admire it. 'Brother' turned to say something to Benny, and Castiel's breath caught in his throat. Even from this distance, peering around the back end of a creature now immortalised in chemicals and resin, Castiel could see that the guy was gorgeous. A work of art, all by himself. He somehow reminded Castiel of that picture Da Vinci had made, identifying perfected beauty, and the delicacy of the Mona Lisa, the passion in Van Gogh's work. He wanted to see Brother up close, to see what colour his eyes were, to memorise all his features, to know whether he tasted as divine as he looked.

He wasn't used to this sensation. Yes, he had dated before, but always out of expectation or experimentation. His mother and father had tried to set him up with some eligible women, he had met a couple of girls at college. But time and again he had been used, or unable to go further than hand holding. Even the first guy he had been interested in turned out to be more interested in the name Novak than who Castiel was. But even he didn't set Castiel's heart racing, his palms sweating, his breath hitching the way that this guy did. He already knew from watching their progress that Brother had a great ass.

He wanted to approach, to get to know this guy, but how? How? What if they questioned who he was, what he was doing? He knew that, if this was Michael, he would merely introduce himself as a board member without giving too many details away, make some small talk about Edith and walk away with Brother's real name and number, already putty in his hands. Luke would just walk by confidently, making Brother chase him. Gabriel would prank him and break the ice that way. Balthazar wouldn't bother with formalities and would stick his tongue down Brother's throat.

Castiel was nothing like any of his brothers.

He watched as Benny and Brother walked outside, discussing which piece to drag in next, and Castiel took his chance, rushing over to the board room and sliding into his seat, late and attracting all the attention. No one would call him out though, no one wanted the wrath of a Novak brother. None of them cared to know the truth. But he still didn't like the way people turned their heads in his direction, then snapped back to Edith as though it hurt to look at him. Being studiously ignored was, in some ways, worse than being studied intently. It was like people were aware of him but too intimidated to acknowledge him.

Edith was talking about the upcoming award she had arranged. It was in its fourth year, but it had already become prestigious in the art world. The winners had become successful and world renown. Castiel loved that end of being on the board, knowing that he had a hand in making someone's life better. He wasn't boastful about it, but he had voted for every winner so far. He just hadn't nominated a winner yet.

Another board member stood up and spoke about investments and outgoings, and Castiel felt his attention slip. Money was so boring, people's obsession with money was so boring. And it was hard to concentrate when there was an artist downstairs who even at this distance seemed to make his veins thrum. Castiel wondered what his name was. It couldn't be Brother, Castiel refused to believe that was possible. He didn't seem pretentious, or like one of those artists who relied on a gimmick. It had to be a quirk of his companion.

And who was Benny to him? Boyfriend? Husband? Brother? But who called their brother by their relationship? That was just weird. He couldn't imagine turning around to Gabriel and addressing him as 'brother'. Castiel really hoped that Benny wasn't married to this artist, not if it removed his chances. He really hoped it was just friendship, that the artist was single and at least experimental.

Although, he considered as reality crashed in, it really wouldn't matter. The guy could be straight with ten kids, or dating this Benny; nothing would change if Castiel couldn't even approach him. And he was so, so beautiful, Castiel couldn't imagine keeping his head enough to talk to the guy, to flirt with him. Drooling in front of him wasn't an attractive prospect. He wished he could be confident like any one of his brothers, instead of hiding behind a preserved, excavated horse. But he didn't know how, couldn't motivate himself to do anything, so he resolved to get over Brother.

* * *

Except. Except that he was still spending time in the gallery, trying to pick an artist to nominate. Except that he came across a sculpture that was intricate and beautiful, twisting poles of steel coalescing into the shape of a tree. Simple yet well crafted, and somehow breathing despite the medium. Except that he discovered Dean Winchester had made it, and the other metal sculptures, including the strange pear-shaped one that he realised he had seen Brother and Benny push into place. Except that, as soon as he knew it, Castiel put the name forward for the award.

The name branded itself into Castiel's head. It became like a pulse, a rhythm when he walked. Every footstep echoed with the name Dean.

He caught sight of him a few more times, and most of the time he hid before he was seen, listening intently for any sign of the relationship between Dean and Benny. He wanted to know where they stood, to know what he should do. As if he had a game plan for any kind of eventuality. Every sighting made his breath catch in his throat. Dean was gorgeous, in any light. There was no way he was single.

Castiel noticed some things while he spied on them from behind columns and other sculptures, or from the balcony that ran along the room. Dean was interested in Benny, his body language made that clear. But Castiel didn't get the vibe that it was reciprocated, Benny's body language was a lot more reserved. Castiel just couldn't tell if it was platonic on Dean's side, if he maybe considered Benny a better friend than Benny did him.

There was one time when he was in the gallery during opening hours where he didn't have the chance to hide, and it would have looked strange if he attempted to do so. He was evaluating a painting by another artist, one who hadn't quite decided on their technique but had been nominated for this award, when voices started up not far behind him.

"Is that one of your competition, Brother?" Benny's southern drawl carried across the room. There were a few footsteps scuffing the polished floor, and Castiel could sense them both standing there, mere feet behind him.

"Oh, yeah. They're up for this award too."

"Do they think they're Picasso?"

"It's not influenced by Picasso. More Mondrian meets Pollock."

Dean sounded so confident. And Castiel scrutinised the painting some more, realising how right Dean was. It was merely a combination of other, more cutting edge contemporary art that had come before. So he could add knowledgable to the meagre amount of information he had on Dean Winchester.

"Means nothing to me, Brother."

"Yeah, well. Good to know what I'm up against."

"Like there's any doubt," Benny huffed a laugh. Dean muttered, but Castiel still heard it.

"Benny, I think that guy's on the committee."

"I didn't say your name, you're safe," Benny replied a little louder. But then their footsteps started, and they left the room before Castiel turned, watching their retreating backs, the way Dean curled towards his friend to whisper in his ear, a hand on his shoulder. Benny's body tensed, but he listened anyway, and Castiel focused back on the painting. He couldn't enjoy it after Dean's succinct evaluation. Or maybe it was after seeing their uneven relationship up close.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel had gone to the awards ceremony, and tried to blend in to the background as much as possible. It was awkward, he hated the small talk with strangers and seeing people compete for status. But he loved the gallery, and got on well with Edith. He kept telling himself that he was there for her, even though a big part of him just wanted to be home, or have Meg here to make things a little more interesting.

"How's it going?" Edith sidled up to him, looking glamorous in a svelte black dress that belied her age. She knew that Castiel hated being singled out as a Novak, and did her best not to use his name in front of other people. It was part of the reason he respected her so much.

"It's a good turn out," Castiel nodded at the room, full of art enthusiasts, artists, and people connected to the gallery.

"Yes. You advertise free champagne and everyone shows. Who did you nominate, by the way? I've forgotten."

Edith wouldn't have forgotten who nominated who. His interest was piqued though, because if she was asking, that meant she was hinting … had Dean won? Was Castiel responsible for changing his life?

"Dean Winchester. He manages to make the metal almost breathe."

"I thought it was. You know that he's a mechanic? When he's not creating breathing metal," she teased. "Although I suppose, in about twenty-four hours, that could all change for him."

She slipped away, and Castiel smiled at her retreating back. She had as good as confirmed who won.

He had seen glimpses of Dean throughout the evening, but still had no idea what to say to him, how to approach him without blurting out a marriage proposal. His friend(?) Benny was nowhere in sight, but Dean stuck close instead to another man, who was tall and thin with a thick head of hair. He had stood close by them at one point, around the buffet table where Dean had been moaning about what was on offer and his companion had merely laughed and shoved a cracker into his hand. And Castiel couldn't make himself go any closer, or speak to him. Even to say he had nominated the artist, to say that he loved the work. It was too hard. He wanted to talk to Dean, art lover to art lover - or even lover to lover - but he was so aware that introducing himself would change the tone. He wouldn't be Castiel-who-loves-art-and-helping-people, he would be 'one of the Novak's'. As ever. So he hung back, and listened to Dean and his friend discuss who the other artists were, and some funny Edith stories, and how high Dean's chances of winning were.

Castiel left after Dean had been announced as the winner, while he was making his way to the temporary stage to accept the accolade and make a speech. There was every chance that someone would force Dean to interact with him, thank him for setting this new chapter of his life in motion and while he wanted to talk to Dean so much, nothing terrified him more than it being in those circumstances. He slipped through the crowd and out of the gallery, sending the standard text to his driver for a pick up and hating himself for once again being too chicken to go after what he really wanted.

* * *

It was only a few months later that a copy of Time magazine arrived at their mansion. There on the front cover was a man who set Castiel's veins ablaze. He looked at the by line but he could already guess that it was Dean Winchester, their features married up too well. It was the closest he had ever seen Dean, and the distance didn't do him justice. He was sat astride the hood of a sleek black car, and glowering almost seductively at the camera.

Castiel flicked through the magazine until he found Dean's article, and read it hungrily. There wasn't much to the article really, it narrated its way through a few of Dean's pieces, and the small garage where he had worked part-time as a mechanic, and spent the rest of his time making his artwork until the award. There was surprisingly little about Dean, who posed beside some of his creations looking like he had cramp, merely mentioning some of his influences, and how he had gotten into metalwork, and that he had recently left the garage to make his own workshop so he could create art full time. It would just be perfect if Dean experienced the same kind of emotional agony that Castiel did in the face of these forced social interactions, if that was the reason there was so little personal information. It would be good to have someone in his life understand what it felt like to flounder for words on subjects you knew inside out, or hate to be singled out for attention. But Dean was made for attention, he was gorgeous and talented and intelligent and-

"What've you got there, Cassie?" The magazine was snatched out of his hand. "Ugh, is Michael in here somewhere?"

"Can I have it back, please?" Castiel asked Gabriel quietly. Gabriel laughed, and launched himself halfway across the room, away from where Castiel was reading.

"You're not worshipping at Michael's feet, are you?" Gabriel smirked.

"No, I was reading about the artist who won Edith's prize this year. He's the artist I nominated."

Gabriel stopped for a moment, and looked at the front cover.

"This guy?" He grinned. Balthazar appeared at his shoulder.

"Who's that guy?"

"The latest entry in Castiel's spank bank." Gabriel grinned. Balthazar looked, and then gave a big whistle.

"No wonder you never tap Meg."

Castiel was on his feet, trying to get the magazine back from the two of them. They were both shorter than him, but that didn't mean it would be easy to retrieve it back from them.

"You can't bone a magazine, Cas!"

"Does this thing have his number printed or something?"

"Did you get him to suck dick for a nomination?"

"Did you fuck him in the janitor's closet?"

"I was reading that!" Castiel protested, trying to ignore their typical sex-fuelled jibes.

"Does he swallow?"

"Did you swallow?"

"Does he eat ass?"

"Give it back!"

"What are you, five? It's only a couple of bucks. Chump change. You could buy out all the copies in town and not make a dent in your interest today." Gabriel reminded him.

"You're being vulgar about my sex life and I'm the five year old?" Castiel complained. They both laughed, and left the room, taking the magazine with them. Castiel didn't follow, instead he stormed into his own quarters, and searched for his phone, placing an order for ten copies of the magazine. Just in case Gabriel and Balthazar continued to steal copies, or they defaced the one they had taken.

* * *

Castiel couldn't leave the article alone in the weeks that followed. He kept searching for hidden meanings in the words, and scouring the pictures to memorise the metal works, and Dean's face.

Dean's eyes looked dark in the pictures. He was gaunt, his cheeks hollowed and only saved from looking skeletal by the dusting of honey-coloured stubble. He seemed uncomfortable, or angry, and Castiel didn't understand why. He had seemed so good-natured when he had overheard Dean and Benny talking.

"Castiel? Are you listening?" Michael's voice brought him back to reality.

"He's day dreaming about that artist again," Luke sniffed disapprovingly. Castiel buried the copy he had on him underneath his legs.

"I was saying," Michael repeated smoothly. "You have to start coming to more functions. You're a Novak, you have to make more of an effort. I'm putting my foot down, Castiel. Upon my return from my conference in Seattle, you're attending like every other member of this family."

Castiel felt nauseated. They were around their dining table, dinner in front of them. Despite the pomp of the room, and the fact that they had employees attending to their every whim, the food was relatively understated. He still couldn't bring himself to eat, not in the face of what Michael was saying to him.

"Michael, I can't," Castiel started.

"You can, and you will. You're a wonderful person, Castiel, and it's time more people got to see that. If it makes it easier, you can bring someone with you. Maybe someone other than Meg? At least some of the time."

"Go out and find a guy. It might help you get over the artist," Luke smirked along the table.

"Lucifer, that's really not helpful right now. And nor is it helpful that you cancelled my deal with …"

Castiel zoned out as his two eldest brothers began arguing again. And despite Luke's joke, he couldn't help his imagination running wild. What if he looked up Dean's studio? What if he worked up the courage to go there, and finally speak to him, and ask him out? He had the time to practice what to say, Michael had given him just over a month to get it together. It was possible. And then he could find out where Benny fit in, whether Dean could be interested in him, what it would feel like to be pressed up against his firm chest, how those hard-working hands would feel tracing his skin …

Castiel resolved to do it. It was the scariest thing he thought he had ever done, but if it worked, if Dean was everything he hoped he could be? The pay off would be more than worth it. Before the month was out, he was at the very least going to talk to Dean Winchester. He would make himself do that much.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was holding his sides tightly, standing on the sidewalk in the poorer side of town. It looked like a mainly residential area, but his research had confirmed that this was Dean's studio. That fact didn't stop him from having multiple panic attacks though.

What was he doing? He had no proof that Dean would go for it. Maybe Benny was merely his best friend and Castiel had only seen what he wanted to see. Maybe the guy at the awards ceremony that Dean had stuck to was his agent.

But if he didn't go for it, then what? Castiel would spend his life regretting it, and he couldn't bear the idea of going to all these functions alone. Meg had grudgingly agreed to some of them, but he hadn't pushed her to agree to more than the bare minimum, knowing she would hate it as much as he did. And he didn't want anyone else, he wanted Dean. He _had_ to get it together. He sat on the curb and made himself breathe deeply, trying to calm down.

"Hey, are you okay?" Someone asked. He nodded, not looking around, still concentrating on regulating his breathing. He could feel it working, calming him down. He just had to focus, and not think of the possibilities. He heard the sounds of the person behind him walking away, and had a moment of panic again. What if that had been Dean? He turned and looked, but the man who was now halfway down the road had hair that was too long to be Dean's, and he was too thin, too wiry. Castiel went back to controlling his breathing, and tried to give himself a stern pep talk.

Dean was a man. That was all. Just like any other guy, who just happened to make beautiful … no, no. Stop with that thought, because that won't help. He's a regular guy. Just like Michael, and Luke, and Gabe, and Balthazar were deep down. He knew Edith, and Edith liked him. Castiel had come this far, was he really going to chicken out at the last hurdle for something he really wanted?

He stood up, and made himself approach the house, finding that the studio opened to what was the garage. A small office sat before the main studio, and a redheaded woman sat behind a computer, staring at the screen.

"Hello?" He forced himself to speak. She looked up dreamily from the screen, then sat straight. Castiel briefly wondered if he had caught her goofing off, and if Dean knew she did it.

"H-hi. Is this Dean Winchester's studio?"

"Yep! Well, the office for it. What did you want with Dean?"

She seemed bubbly, and friendly, which intimidated Castiel if he were honest. How could anyone be that sociable without any apprehension? But at the same time … wasn't it obvious what he would want with Dean? He forced himself to respond, in what he hoped would be a normal way.

"I was hoping to buy some art."

She shot up out of her seat, grinning, and gestured for him to follow her into the main studio. This was it, he was finally going to come face to face with Dean. He forced himself not to overthink, and follow this girl, who was already talking fast as they walked into the converted garage. He tried to keep up, but it was difficult. She talked so fast.

"My name's Charlie, by the way. Dean makes me sit in that office and sort out admin, but it doesn't really take much effort. What's your name?" She didn't take a breath to allow Castiel to respond. Which he was grateful for, because he didn't want her to know who he was. He couldn't imagine how shrill and talkative she would become if he dared admit anything to her. "Oh, and this is where the magic happens! Dean is here somewhere. He's been working towards the upcoming show at the local gallery, so if you're looking for a commission piece you might have to wait. I don't want to yell for him, he works with some pretty sharp stuff so accidents could happen. I'm sure we'll find him, he'll give you the tour."

Castiel didn't even bother to respond, he was more interested in looking around the space, which was larger than he had anticipated. Perhaps part of the house had also been converted into the studio as well. Charlie hadn't been exaggerating about the dangerous tools Dean used, Castiel skirted past an acid bath, a lathe, and a welding torch, as well as a few pieces in various states of completion. They got to a piece made of copper cogs, and Castiel stopped walking. The thing was completely stationary, but the way the cogs slotted together gave it the air of being in motion. It was in the shape of a man in mid-run, and Castiel could practically taste his haste.

"Hey," a low voice came from behind him, one he recognised from the museum. Oh God, it was him. Castiel turned slowly, and saw Dean standing with his arms folded, biceps bulging through his thin green t-shirt. His brown hair looked golden in places where the lighting hit it, and Castiel could see a dusting of light freckles across his nose. He was sizing Castiel up, and Castiel had to remind himself to breathe once more. As beautiful as Dean had been from a distance, up close he was a masterpiece.

The moment broke as Charlie interrupted, speaking slightly slower to Dean. Castiel supposed it was a rule he had imposed on her.

"Hey! Potential buyer."

Dean leaned against a tangle of girders, his eyebrows raised. Apparently, he was communicating with his assistant because he had said nothing, and she reacted as though he had.

"Dean, play nice," she teased, and nudged Castiel like they were old friends. "Ignore his moodiness. He's a _serious_ artist."

She left them alone, and Castiel looked away from Dean like he was blinded. How did he allow his assistant to talk to him like that? Not that Dean had to be a tyrant, but she seemed really unprofessional. And now Castiel was left alone in a room with the man he had been fantasising about for months, and he could feel the panic rising again. He looked at the cog piece, and tried to centre himself. The cogs seemed to move again, to spin with a speed that made him feel dizzy. He reached out a hand, trying to see if it was really moving or all in his head-

"That's seven thousand dollars. You break it, you bought it." Dean brought him back to reality with a bump. He slowly brought his hand back, and looked at the man he idolised. Dean didn't look angry, but he didn't look impressed. This was clearly a mistake, Castiel realised. Dean would never be interested in him. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. But then Dean was talking again. "So why are you interrupting my work?"

There was absolutely no way that Castiel could admit he was there for a date. Dean didn't seem like the kind of guy who would appreciate stopping work just to be hit on. He stuck to the line he had given the assistant, trying to sound like he didn't know Dean's entire back catalogue.

"I was interested in getting a new piece from a skilled craftsman. You come highly recommended. Your assistant said it would be possible to look at some pieces that might be suitable."

Technically, Dean _did_ come highly recommended. Castiel recommended him most highly.

"Sure you can afford me?" Dean gave a tiny smirk. It was adorable, but Castiel felt himself panic slightly. Did Dean know? Was he teasing because he was aware of just who Castiel was? He felt himself smiling back, despite the anxiety.

"I'm sure I'll find something in my price range."

Was he flirting? Did he just successfully manage to flirt with The Dean Winchester?

"Well, I guess if you can afford to fuck about with a sculpture worth seven thousand dollars." Dean gave a shrug, and Castiel felt himself relax a teeny amount. Maybe Dean was clueless, maybe this was just how he was. The moodiness that the assistant had warned him about. He felt emboldened by the idea. And also - he was managing to talk to Dean in a somewhat cohesive conversation. It was more than exciting, it felt unreal.

"It's intriguing," Castiel commented. Okay, so he wasn't exactly the best conversationalist. He knew enough from studying art history, from being on the board at the gallery. He could have spoken for hours about art with Dean, who he was sure would listen and contribute as well.

"Uh-huh." Dean said instead. Maybe he wanted to go back to flirting. Castiel did his best, still talking about the statue in front of him.

"I like the steampunk influence. Embracing the modern while looking back at the past, while utilising the materials you have to hand. I like that you use a relevant material to help tell the piece. Especially with the man running," he forced himself to stop with the word vomit. "I was just wondering how you managed to defy gravity so easily with it."

It still looked as though it were turning.

"So you want that one?"

Castiel looked back at him. It almost seemed like Dean didn't want to talk shop. But Dean knew his stuff, he knew one of his main competitors was ripping off the greats, why wouldn't he be impressed that Castiel could go into this detail? And besides, Castiel wasn't sure if he wanted the cogs. He would have to keep touching them, to make sure they were still. He didn't want his time with Dean over with yet either, he hadn't even begun to work up the courage to ask Dean out.

"Perhaps, if there's nothing else that catches my eye. Is there anything you recommend?"

He was hoping Dean would talk more. He wanted to capture the memory of that voice, the way it poured like honey, the southern twang that was subtle like a marker from his past. Dean seemed to be a man of as few words as himself. But Dean seemed to be in the sour mood that his assistant predicted.

"Anything I made in this room with a price tag. But if I made it for the gallery, you're going to have to wait for it."

"That sounds reasonable. May I look around, or will you show me some pieces?"

Dean's expression seemed to tighten, as though Castiel was really inconveniencing him. But he didn't refuse, or send Castiel away, instead he started stomping around the space, gesturing.

"There's this one, or that one. Another one. Collection." Castiel looked at all the pieces peeking out between the equipment, and then at Dean's ass. It was a pretty good ass, round and firm and taut. Castiel wanted to sink his teeth into it. "Any time you wanna tell me that it speaks to you, go right ahead."

Castiel didn't feel mocked by Dean's words. He assumed that maybe Dean was taciturn because others had wasted his time. And Castiel was not going to play that game with him.

"Your assistant normally takes care of sales, doesn't she?" Castiel asked. If he didn't have such a massive crush on Dean, he might have preferred dealing with her. It made him curious as to why Charlie wasn't helping with his sale. Why had Castiel been singled out? Did they know who he was, and what influence he'd already had on Dean's career? But then, why would Dean be so sour? He answered Castiel with honesty.

"Apparently I have negative energy. Of course, this comes from a girl who likes to play dress up at the weekend in the local park."

Castiel looked at him, and then the glass structure he stood beside, as Dean's attention was caught elsewhere in the studio. He hadn't known that Dean worked with any other mediums, and he wasn't sure if he was even meant to have seen this one.

"What about this?" He asked as he stepped closer, trying to get a better look. It looked like transparent glass that was layered until it took on a translucent quality. There was something in vibrant red in the middle. It almost looked like a heart.

"What about it?" This time, Dean sounded wary rather than disgruntled. Like he didn't want to be asked about it. He also seemed somewhat distracted.

"It's different. Not metal. I like different."

What if he possessed something made by Dean that was so exclusive that no one else had anything even remotely like it? The idea thrilled him, but didn't seem to impress Dean.

"Uh-huh."

"Would this be out of my price range?" He asked innocently. He very much doubted that Dean would charge ten billions dollars for this glasswork, but he might yet be surprised. He still couldn't tell if Dean knew he was a Novak.

"I haven't priced it yet. What do you think it's worth?"

There was something in Dean's tone that made Castiel wary. He had been doing so well up until now, he had almost forgotten to be nervous. Dean had, despite his brittle demeanour, put him at ease. He answered with caution this time.

"I don't know, Dean. I don't want you to laugh me out of the studio by going too low, or too high."

Dean didn't give any indication that he knew who Castiel was. Instead, he thrust his hand to the side almost violently, and bit out,

"If you're shit out of cash, there's this piece. I call it 'starving artist's lunch'. Four hundred dollars."

A light switch went in Castiel's head. Meg could often be dour when all she wanted was something baked or fried or covered in chocolate, clearly Dean was the same.

"I interrupted your meal, I'm sorry. For what it's worth? I don't think Subway would let you get away with hijacking their brand."

"Probably not." Dean was unreadable, but Castiel could deal with a hangry person. Meg had given him plenty of experience.

"I'll leave you to your lunch, and continue looking around, if that's okay? If you trust me."

"Can you tell the difference between equipment and art?" Dean seemed relieved to be allowed to return to his food. It was endearing, so much so that Castiel almost forgot himself and simpered. He scratched behind his ear, trying to pull himself together. Dean was lowering his inhibitions so much, and he wasn't used to that. It was the easiest he had found it to speak to anyone new.

"I'll manage. But you might get lucky and sell me a soldering iron for a five hundred per cent mark up."

Dean gave him a small smile and headed over to the table, with no more questions. Like he trusted Castiel with his work. It was almost overwhelming, to have Dean's faith like that, to have unlimited access to his work. To have been able to connect with him on this level alone. Even if he didn't secure a date with the man, at least he'd had a good experience meeting him. Even if it wouldn't appear that way to anyone else, the fact that Castiel had even had a conversation with him, had stood in close proximity to him and resisted direct contact … it was a huge success.

He started looking around, feeling like a kid in a toy store. Where was he meant to start? How was he meant to resist paying for everything? He decided that the best way to pick something was to see what drew his eye naturally.

He locked in to a statue about ten feet away that looked as though it had been worked on recently. It was iron, and already had that aged look of green-grey spackles all over it. The iron was curled into an intricate design, building up to the shape of a person. It was incomplete, but drew Castiel's eye nonetheless. Dean approached, standing relatively close to him, sending prickles all over his skin. In Dean's hand was his sandwich, swimming in marinara sauce and melted cheese.

"I like this one." He said. Dean spoke around a half-chewed mouthful.

"It's not done."

He seemed calmer, now he was sorting out his blood sugar levels. Castiel wasn't deterred.

"I like its potential."

Dean swallowed his bite.

"It's going in the show."

It felt like Dean was trying to talk him out of his choice. All he had to do was say it wasn't for sale, and Castiel would back off.

"I can wait," he assured him. "May I have this one?"

"It's going to cost you."

Dean's tone was a warning, and Castiel wanted to laugh. Unless Dean wanted blood for this thing, it was going to be his. He faced Dean instead, the sculpture fitting between them.

"Isn't that the point? That your sculptures cost money?"

Dean took another huge bite of his sandwich, and chewed for a few moments.

"I'm thinking this one's going to end up nearer ten thousand. So if you got the green, you can have it."

"After the show." Castiel confirmed. Dean made a noise of assent around his food. It surprised Castiel that Dean priced his work so low, he would happily pay fifty times the amount for the work. He didn't want to insult Dean by mentioning that fact, however. And maybe Dean knew that he was worth more, but didn't charge larger amounts out of some kind of integrity. Castiel was hoping that was more likely the case. He decided that it was now or never. Dean was pacified by his food, and this sculpture was as good as his. And his confidence in Dean's presence couldn't last forever, sooner or later it was going to get to him and he would embarrass himself horribly in front of the one person whose approval meant the most.

"I have a proposition for you, if you would consider it."

Dean swallowed again, and waited. Clearly, he needed more information before he would even begin to disagree. He took the plunge. The worst that Dean could say was no, right?

"I have a series of functions coming up that I'm unable to get out of. If I could, I would. I'm normally fairly successful at escaping these affairs. But on this occasion, it's unavoidable, and I'm expected to turn up with a guest. Would you consider coming with me?"

He did it. He had actually asked Dean Winchester out. Dean had been about to take another bite of his sandwich, but now stood there, mouth open, hand near his mouth, staring at Castiel like he couldn't tell if this was some messed up joke. Castiel started backtracking, without rescinding his offer.

"I promise not to make any advances, I promise that there will be highly influential people there who would pay for your artwork. Even if they would use terms like 'a commentary of our times'. I just … I have the feeling you won't allow me to get stressed while I'm there. I like your sense of humour."

He knew Dean was going to hate it as much as he did. He just knew it. And yet, now he'd asked, he didn't want to hear no. He wanted Dean to pull him around the half finished sculpture and kiss his face off.

"You want to go out with me?" Dean asked. He didn't sound disgusted, which was a relief. But he did seem cautious, and Castiel didn't want to spook him.

"Essentially. I'll pay you, if that convinces you?"

Ideally, Dean would have laughed off the offer of money and declared his undying love for Castiel. But the artist was skeptical to a degree that Castiel hadn't banked on.

"And you can afford to do this _and_ buy my art?"

He had no idea who Castiel was. But he still wasn't saying no. That had to account for something. Castiel leaned closer, touching the sculpture as he did so.

"I can afford a lot of things, Dean. I wouldn't need you for all the functions, my friend Meg has volunteered to come to some things, but her schedule doesn't allow for all of them, and I'm in a bind."

Meg's name didn't generate a reaction either. Dean was genuinely clueless about who Castiel was. But he did snort as soon as Castiel finished speaking, a derisive noise like he couldn't believe this was happening. Castiel couldn't either. He felt light-headed again.

"I'll give you ten thousand for every day I need you."

"Ten thousand dollars?" Dean's skepticism remained. It maybe seemed low, considering that was the price of the artwork. Castiel tried again.

"Twenty thousand then."

"I'm not haggling." Dean's tone was souring. Maybe he wasn't haggling, but Castiel was starting to feel desperate with the light-headed feeling. He needed Dean to say yes right now, and then he needed to go somewhere and calm the hell down. He tried to talk fast, to convince Dean.

"And I said, I'm in a bind. Would you agree to fifty thousand for each function?"

"You're kidding right? You've got to be joking."

Dean was right, he was worth much more than fifty thousand for an evening.

"A hundred thousand."

"Stop saying numbers at me!" Dean seemed flustered.

"A million dollars. For each date."

He wasn't meant to call it a date, not out loud. But the million dollar mark seemed to have a different effect on Dean. He took a step back, and gave another snort of disbelief.

"You've got that much?"

"Considerably more, actually." Castiel muttered under his breath.

"What? Didn't catch that."

Castiel forced himself to speak up. He didn't want to seal this deal on the basis of who he was, but maybe that was the information Dean was missing. They hadn't really introduced themselves, after all. He took the scariest plunge of all.

"I have substantially more than that. That's why I'm able to offer it to you. I'll provide a tailor in the next couple of days to get you a couple of suits. You just need to stand with me, talk to me, avoid direct questions about whether we're dating and talk me out of killing my brothers for making me do these things."

Dean made another derisive noise, and raised his sandwich again.

"Millions of dollars and multiple brothers. What are you, a Novak?" He paused after he said this, and looked Castiel over again, scrutinising him, making the connections. Castiel waited, feeling the back of his neck sweating. How he was still standing, he didn't know. What Dean made of this, he had no idea. "You are, aren't you? The mystery Novak no one knows shit about. Callie?"

Dean didn't even know what his name was meant to be. Castiel didn't know if he was happy that Dean wasn't clued in, or disappointed that he didn't mean as much to the artist.

"Castiel," he corrected quietly. And hating himself, he had to ask the next question. "Does that change matters?"

He didn't want it to be a deal breaker. He didn't want Dean to bail on him. He didn't want the fact he was Castiel Novak to be the only reason Dean would say yes.

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean … wow. You didn't tell Charlie, it would have been the first thing she'd blab about."

"No, I didn't. I anticipated that might be the outcome."

Dean still hadn't agreed. And Castiel still wasn't quite sure whether his status changed Dean's mind about him. He didn't want to believe it would, he wanted to believe that Dean wanted him back, regardless of his wealth.

"Why me?"

There was so much heartbreaking simplicity in Dean's question. What was Castiel meant to tell him? _I nominated you for an award and I've wanted you since I saw you with your friend Benny and this is the first time I've worked up the courage to speak to you_? No. He tried to deflect the question, to make it seem less like he was a stalker.

"Because the entire time we've been talking, you've been more interested in your sandwich than in showing off your achievements or your client base. I realize that it might be awkward, that you might not … I mean …"

He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck. How was he supposed to bring this up? He'd had a boyfriend before, but the guy had hit on him. He had no idea how to get a feel for whether a guy could be interested.

"That I might not be a stereotypical artist?"

Dean carried on with his sandwich, and Castiel tried to figure out what that meant. Was he telling Castiel that he was gay too? He tried to play it safe.

"You do have the temperament."

Dean carried on eating his sandwich, and Castiel waited nervously, wondering if he should say anything more. But he didn't want to say the wrong thing now, not when it seemed like Dean was finally taking it seriously. He never dreamed he'd get this far, but he was so hopeful now.

"So, you're basically paying me to be your friend."

It wasn't a question, and Castiel's heart sank a little. Dean was affirming that he was, indeed, straight.

"Offering an incentive." Castiel rephrased it. Dean nodded.

"You don't get a discount on the sculpture. Still ten thousand."

That, at least, made Castiel smile. This negotiation was separate to his art purchase. He would happily throw more money at Dean's art, but this would have to suffice for now. And he offered an olive branch of sorts to Dean.

"You don't get to talk to people about whether we're really dating. Even your inquisitive assistant."

"For what you're offering, you could have her kidnapped."

Although Dean's words were harsh, he smiled fondly at the mention of Charlie. Clearly, she was important to him. Castiel wondered if she were his girlfriend, if she knew that they'd been flirting. Castiel brought a hand forward, surprised that it wasn't shaking with his nerves.

"Do we have a deal?"

Dean grabbed at his hand and shook it, seemingly oblivious to the way it sent tingles everywhere on Castiel. He had a firm grip, and a good handshake. Castiel had to remind himself to let go when Dean did.

"Deal," he smiled. "Now, I need some quality time with the sub, so … see you later?"

"Sure. I'll get your contact details from your assistant. Here's my card." He grabbed a card from his breast pocket, and slipped it into Dean's hand, letting their skin brush deliciously once more. "I look forward to seeing you again soon."

He made himself walk away from Dean, and head back towards the office. Charlie was back on the computer, playing a video game.

"Dean said I should get his cell number and email from you, so we can keep in contact about my piece." Castiel told her. "I should also pay for my sculpture now."

"Sure, dude." She paused her game, and pulled out a book, and a stack of cards. "His cell number and email and website are all on that," she passed the card over, then opened the book. "Which one was it?"

"A work in progress. Green iron swirls?"

Charlie frowned, looking back at the door for a moment before plastering a fake smile on her face and addressing Castiel again.

"Sure thing. Did he tell you a price?"

"Ten thousand."

She nodded, and looked at him seriously.

"We don't accept cheques. You got a card?"

Castiel opened his wallet, and pulled out one of the cards he used when he wanted to go incognito. She ran it through the machine, and handed it back with a thoughtful expression. Castiel didn't want to wait to figure out what it meant.

"Thank you so much. I can't wait to see it complete. Goodbye."

He walked out of the house, down the street and around the corner, then let out a massive breath.

He had done it. He'd asked out Dean Winchester. He asked him out and Dean had said _yes_.

Now he just had to figure out how to cope with spending so much time with his crush.


	4. Chapter 4

**I had formatted this so the text messages were set up like a normal smart phone, but there's no right alignment. So sorry for** **the format change, hope it's still easy to work out who is who texting x**

* * *

-Hello, Dean. We met earlier and I bought a sculpture from you. Is this your personal line or a business one?

- _It's my own. Not many people call me. Guessing this is Cas?_

-Castiel. Yes. Hello.

- _You said that already._

-Am I bothering you?

- _No._

-Oh. I have an appointment set up at the tailor for you. Can you make Saturday at 2?

- _Sure. I got your contracts, by the way. You're thorough._

-Is that an issue?

- _Nope. Just know that my brother's a lawyer. So I'll know if there's anything wrong with them._

-I do try to operate with integrity.

- _You text funny. You know that?_

-How so?

- _Like I'm reading some old book or something._

-Is that supposed to be a compliment?

- _If you wanna take it that way. You don't chill out much, do you?_

-Honestly? No. My brothers would perhaps tell you that I don't do anything except overthink. It's not very productive.

- _Dude, we met a few hours ago and you already sent me contracts and set up my appointment and texted me. You're not lazy._

-Thank you. That was nice of you to say.

- _So your brothers ride your ass a lot, huh?_

-They like to project their ideals onto me. Is your brother like that?

- _Sammy? No, Sammy's cool. Giant nerd, total puppy dog. He has these eyes man, they'll win any argument. Guy makes me a total sucker._

"Castiel do you have any intention of getting off your cell phone and doing work today?"

Castiel didn't look up from his cell phone at Lucifer.

"I'm talking to my date for the networking event when Michael gets back."

"Tell Meg I said hello. Then get off your phone, you need to be at the meeting with United."

Castiel finally looked up from the screen, frowning as he did so.

" _I_ need to be there?"

"That's what I said, Castiel."

"It's Michael's account. He's CEO."

"And Michael is in Seattle, so I'm in charge, so go." Lucifer left the room, as though that would guarantee him the last word. Castiel did not want to be at any stupid business meetings. He wanted to carry on texting Dean and feeling like he was connected to someone. He sent a final text before standing up and trying to pick a good place to find refuge so he didn't have to put up with Lucifer's demands.

-I have to go. Family affairs. I look forward to talking with you soon.

- _I wish you the best with all your endeavours. Yours sincerely, Dean Winchester._

-So amusing.

- _It's spelled like LOL. Future reference._

Dean was so funny. Castiel had smiled at his response, even as he chastised him for it. He slipped his phone into his pocket and slipped out of the house, grateful that being the quiet, withdrawn brother meant that he wouldn't be missed until it was too late. He didn't use one of the family cars - they were too easily traced - but instead relied on public transportation to get him to the docks. There, he walked until he reached a yacht, which he climbed aboard, and entered the cabin.

He knew it was ostentatious to have a yacht, and predictably boring for someone of his wealth, but he liked his boat. There was something soothing about the way it swayed with the waves. No one knew he owned it, no one knew he came here. It was his own haven away from the way his brothers could be, the way their entire world seemed to operate. He went into the bedroom, and accessed the television from its concealed panel, putting on an old black-and-white movie.

He knew it was perhaps frivolous to enjoy the arts as he did, but he didn't care. He had no interest in hedge funds and stock markets or company performance, but seeing the way people behaved in film, seeing their lives panned out so completely within such a short time frame, the promise that things would be okay … it was enchanting. He got lost in Cary Grant, in Audrey Hepburn, in love and loss and misunderstandings until he fell asleep on the yacht's bed.

* * *

When he got home the next afternoon, it was to find a few young men in various ill-fitting suits lining the hallway leading to Michael's office, all clutching resumes and looking fairly nervous. He passed by them all and pushed into Michael's study, surprised to find that his eldest brother wasn't home, and that Lucifer was in pride of place, interviewing one of the youngest applicants.

"What's going on?"

"You're interrupting, that's what's going on," Lucifer sneered. The boy turned in his seat, watching their exchange with apprehension. "I'm hiring a new driver. I had to let Julian go. He couldn't tell the difference between a red light and a green light yesterday, he nearly killed me."

Castiel thought he did well not to provoke his brother by mentioning that there was a chance Julian did it intentionally. Lucifer had never really liked the man, who had been decent enough to Castiel. There were some things he couldn't resist, however.

"Does Michael know you're doing this?"

"Michael doesn't have the monopoly on decisions. Now if you don't mind, I'm in the middle of an interview."

Lucifer pointed to the door, and Castiel looked at the nervous boy between them.

"Can you drive?"

"Castiel," Lucifer warned. The boy looked flustered.

"I passed my test nine months ago. I'm a really responsible driver. This would be my first job."

"Good enough for me. If Luke doesn't hire you, I will for myself."

"Castiel," Lucifer's tone was biting. Castiel looked at him warily.

"What exactly are you grilling him on?"

"Never you mind. Leave now."

The door opened again, and Michael walked in, looking at the scene before them.

"What on earth is going on? Why did I have to just dismiss seven people from our house?"

"Luke fired Julian, and decided to hire a replacement. Probably before you got home." Castiel jumped in. "I think we should hire this guy."

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I was away for three days, how do you manage to get rid of our most committed driver and advertise his role in so short a time? Do you have to constantly undermine me? Castiel, could you escort the young man out, please? I need to talk with Luke."

Castiel walked out of the room with the young man in tow, and turned to him as they walked along the hallway.

"I'm sorry to waste your time, and that we were so unprofessional." He offered.

"It's okay. I didn't know if it was normal for a job interview. I kind of needed the job though, I'm graduating in a year and my Mom doesn't have enough money to send me to college."

"I meant what I said, I'll hire you." Castiel pulled a square of paper out of his pocket. "I tell you what, do this one job for me, I'll have Michael assess you, and if he's happy, you're hired."

He passed the paper over.

"Go to the first address, pick up Dean Winchester. Take him to the second address, where he has an appointment. Make sure he's comfortable, and well looked after. If he wants to go anywhere after his appointment, that's fine. My only stipulation is that you mention to no one else what I'm asking of you. Dean is going to be a surprise for my family, and I don't think he's told many people about me either."

"He's that guy who makes those metal things, isn't he? My class saw some of his stuff when he won that award. I liked it."

"I like it too," Castiel smiled. "Thank you, um …"

"Kevin. Kevin Tran." He held a hand out to shake. "And you're Castiel, aren't you? The quiet brother."

"I am indeed. Let me just get you the keys to a sedan. Dean needs to be there at two on Saturday."

Kevin nodded, and Castiel left him in the entrance hall to look for the keys to a car that perhaps wouldn't be missed by his eldest siblings.

* * *

Castiel was at the gallery again. There had been another board meeting that morning, and now he was walking slowly past the exhibits, enjoying the quiet and the depth of emotions splayed out across the walls. Edith was currently displaying the work of a painter who was something of a prodigy. At seven years old, they already had a good grasp on composition and had already done several exhibitions.

As impressive as it all was, Castiel didn't particularly like the child. She was precocious, and spoiled, and her parents didn't seem to care about disciplining her. Not that Castiel was hoping for punishment, but a little guidance wouldn't have gone amiss. They were worried about crippling her creative spirit, and gave her everything she demanded as a consequence.

It made Castiel appreciate Dean all the more. He had read up some more in the last couple of days, about how Dean had become a mechanic and had discovered a gift for manipulating the car bodies so that dents were removed. And then he started to play around, to see what else he could do with metal, and one thing led to another … it was a sweet story, and clearly one that had surprised Dean, that metalwork came so naturally to him. That he hadn't been shepherded into it at an early age and turned into a pre-pubescent tyrant.

His cell phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out, answering it and speaking quietly into the handset, hoping not to disturb the few other patrons nearby.

"Hello, Kevin."

"Hey Castiel. Dean's in his fitting right now. He's pretty cool."

"Yes, I quite like him."

Kevin laughed down the phone.

"I kind of got that. But um, he said he was meant to be at an ice hockey match. His brother and sister got tickets. I think I can get him there after his fitting."

Dean had mentioned his brother in texts, but not his sister. Castiel was a little surprised that he hadn't uncovered that information yet, but he hid it well.

"Is that at the local rink?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so?

"Thank you for letting me know, Kevin. Would you be able to wait around to take them home afterwards?"

"Dean said wants to head home with them. I'll offer it again, if you want?"

Castiel felt conflicted. He wanted to say yes, to make sure Dean was taken care of until he walked through his front door, but he was an adult and Castiel had asked for discretion. He didn't know what Dean's siblings knew of their arrangements.

"Maybe. See how he is before you do. Does he seem to be enjoying himself?" It was important to Castiel, that Dean enjoyed some of the perks, especially when he knew things would be different around his family.

"I guess. He was joking about you meeting over a mutual appreciation of tuxedos."

Castiel smiled. If Dean was making jokes, that meant that he was comfortable, at least. Castiel wanted to keep that going.

"I'd better go, Kevin. Thank you so much." He hung up, and stepped outside of the museum, calling the stadium. They picked up relatively quickly.

"Hello, this is Castiel Novak, I believe my brother Balthazar owns this stadium?"

He heard the intake of breath, and ploughed on before he lost his nerve.

"You have three people coming to the game today. Dean Winchester and his brother and sister. Could you please give them the President's box? And lay out some food and drink for them. Balthazar knows my accountant to bill for it."

"Ye-yes. Yes, of course, Mr Novak, sir!" The girl was breathless on the other end of the line. "Dean Winchester?"

"Dean Winchester, and his two guests." He hung up, and left the gallery completely, walking down the road and enjoying his anonymity. No one gave him a second look as he strode down the road, which was how he liked it.

He had gotten back home and settled into his own quarters when his cell phone vibrated again.

- _Dude, you are the BEST_

-I take it you got the upgrade?

- _My sister's eating her weight in shrimp. My brother's cut off my alcohol supply. The air is cold but my ass is toasty ;)_

-Glad you're enjoying it.

- _Guy's front teeth got knocked out, there was blood. The team nearly rioted. It's a great match! How'd you pull this off?_

-Balthazar owns the stadium. He used to do figure-skating as a child and never stopped loving it. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.

- _And here was me thinking you're the only Novak with secrets._

-I'm sure we all have secrets.

- _I'm secretly thinking about taking this seat home with me. Seriously, heated seats?! Would Balthazar miss one?_

- _Sorry, Cas, Sam's trying to look at my phone. G2G._

Castiel wasn't sure whether Dean was joking about stealing the chair. He knew Sam was the brother, from Dean's previous messages, but he wasn't sure about the sister. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to be introduced to them, as Dean's boyfriend. He wanted a hell of a lot of things that he was just going to have to pace himself for.

Someone knocked on his door, and when he opened it, it was to find Kevin standing there nervously.

"He got to the arena okay. He didn't want me to wait."

"It's fine, Kevin. Did he seem happy?"

"Yes, I think so. He seemed to think a lot of you."

Castiel's heart leaped. Kevin was probably trying to be respectful, but the idea that Dean liked him made his veins heat up. Even if it were just platonic on Dean's side. Kevin gave him a coy smile.

"Are you two dating? I mean, I know it's none of my business, but you smile whenever he's mentioned, and he said he'd put in a good word for me for this job. I mean, I'm not trying to-"

"It's okay, Kevin. You have the job." Castiel swallowed hard. "And Dean and I … we just met. But I like him. I like him very much."

"I can understand that. Not that … I'm straight." Kevin coloured. "Sorry, I'm not trying to insult my boss."

"I wasn't taking it that way. I was taking it as you saying Dean is a good person."

"I think so. I didn't talk with him for long, but he seemed pretty cool."

Castiel smiled at that.

"That was my impression also. Come, I'll get you your contracts."

He led the way through the property, Kevin following close behind. Castiel hoped that, somehow, he had found a friend in Kevin, as well as an employee.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel was in the limousine, wringing his hands nervously. They were almost back at Dean's house, ready to pick him up for their first event, and Castiel was fighting off a panic attack. He wanted the evening to go well, he wanted to have fun with Dean, to have Dean like him too. He also wanted to not be near his brothers or any of the others in their social circles. It was going to be so draining.

"Are you okay?" Kevin asked from the front seat. He had been practicing driving the limo, and he was pretty good at it, and now he looked the part very much in his chauffeur's uniform. It was kind of him to notice Castiel's duress.

"No. I get," Castiel didn't finish his sentence, but began taking deep breaths in and out, dropping his head between his knees. Like he had been taught when his parents had sent him to a specialist as a child.

"Hey, come on, Dean's going to come out of that house, he'll be in his suit and making jokes and you can focus on those instead of all the other on the fibres of the floor for now."

Castiel did, trying to manage his breathing still. He was surprised that Kevin even knew how to deal with this. He knew he'd picked correctly when he chose Kevin. Kevin who was a nice kid, a smart kid, and one who understood that, although Castiel hated the idea of driving around in a stretch limousine, understood that they both had roles to play. They had already agreed to fake both their roles for onlookers, though Castiel already considered him a kind-of friend.

Eventually, his breathing returned to normal, and Kevin looked at him through the rear view mirror.

"The best way to go forward is to take it one step at a time. So all you have to do is get off the seat and out of the car. That's all you have to do for now, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and Kevin slipped out of his seat, opening the back door. Castiel took another couple of deep breaths, and slid off the seat, onto the sidewalk.

"Just walk up to that door, okay?"

"Thank you, Kevin."

Castiel shuffled up the pathway, and made himself ring their doorbell. There were some heavy footsteps, and then the front door opened, and Dean's friend from the art award was there, looking down at him. Had this friend always been so tall? Castiel was six foot, and he felt tiny next to this guy. He couldn't make himself talk, and this guys expression was steely.

"Hello?" He asked, the same hidden southern twang in his voice as was in Dean's. Castiel wondered briefly if it was Dean's brother, and which state the family had originally come from, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. And it would be weird, in response to a greeting. Dean appeared on the stairway, his assistant not far behind him, and Castiel lost his ability to breath for an entirely different reason than another panic attack.

Dean was perfection. Absolute perfection. The suit skimmed his frame and accented his chest. The tie he was wearing matched the deep green of his eyes perfectly. And Castiel hadn't thought he would be able to manipulate his hair at all, but he was wrong. Dean had a side parting, sharp and straight along to his crown and somehow - impossible though it might seem - it just enhanced all his good looks. Castiel's mouth was watering, and he forced himself not to show how desperate he was for the artist in front of him.

"Uh, hi?" The tall guy with the hair spoke again, breaking Castiel out of his reverie. But he was spared the opportunity to speak, by Dean's enthusiastic assistant.

"Hey, you're the guy who bought Dean's work-in-progress!"

She was so loud that Castiel flinched, trying to avoid descending into a panic attack in front of them. It was the last thing he needed, showing Dean and his friends how vulnerable he really was.

"Well, that would explain a lot," the guy between Dean and Castiel muttered, looking at Dean who half-ran down the last few steps. He seemed dazed as well, as if the prospect of what they were doing were just now taking its toll on him.

"Hey, I'm ready," Dean spoke directly to him. He nodded to his friends. "See you later, kids. Don't wait up."

The nameless man between them stuck his hand out, keeping them separated and barring Dean's exit from the house. Dean rolled his eyes and grimaced at Castiel, who could do nothing else but nod. He had no idea what was going on, merely glad that the panicked feeling was at last starting to ebb. He couldn't help but ask, before anything else occurred,

"You live with your assistant?"

Dean grimaced again, but answered him.

"She's my sister. She needed a job and she's good with computers."

Things clicked into place. Of course she had been so familiar with Dean in his studio the last time, she knew all his secrets. He supposed Dean had been joking about the notion of having her kidnapped. She wasn't so warm this time around.

"Next time you want to take my brother out, can you please go through me so I can make sure Dean doesn't have anything else on?"

Castiel smiled despite himself. It was sweet, seeing her be so protective of Dean. And he got a little thrill, hearing her phrase it as taking Dean out, as though it were a real date. He wasn't sure if Dean had told his sister anything about who he was, or what they were really doing, and his nerves still had the better of him.

"I'll have my people do it. But I'm on a tight schedule right now, could I please have Dean for the evening? I promise to look after him and return him in relatively good condition."

He was officially horrible at meeting family members. The man, who Castiel was positive must be Sam, didn't seem to appreciate his answer.

"Where are you taking him?"

"Geez, Sam!" Dean sounded embarrassed, and Castiel felt himself smile again. So he had been correct that this was Sam. He liked how close Dean and his siblings seemed, it gave the artist another level of realism. He gave Sam a more honest answer.

"A very boring networking event, over at the clubhouse on the golf course on Maple. Where there will no doubt be art enthusiasts who will go nuts about Dean, so it all works in your favour."

Sam flexed a little, as though he were debating if the answer were good enough, and Dean pushed forward, past his brother. He took Castiel by the elbow and pulled him away from the house before there was any more interrogation. Castiel nearly stumbled, he was so surprised, and his concentration was split between staying upright, and Dean's hand on his arm.

Kevin saw them approaching, and opened the back door for them. Castiel slipped in gratefully, feeling like the limousine was a safe haven, and then regretting that thought immediately. Dean took a few moments before slipping inside, and Castiel could hear him talking with Kevin. It made him happy, to think that they got along already. It made the upcoming events seem not only bearable, but perhaps something to look forward to. When he did get into the car, Kevin shutting the door behind him, his eyes darted around at the limo, barely touching Castiel, who took the opportunity to savour the way Dean looked.

He should always do the side parting. Or maybe not, because then Castiel would not stop himself from accosting him.

He didn't want to be caught staring, in case it made Dean uncomfortable, so instead he grabbed a bottle of champagne and poured it into two available glasses. He didn't drink often, but with the panic attacks already, and Dean looking like _that_ , he needed Dutch courage. He passed a glass to Dean, who took it and finally looked at him, just as their fingers brushed against each other. Castiel didn't know what to do with himself as heat shot from his chest to his stomach. He wanted Dean _so much_. He made himself pull his hand away and behave.

"I think we should make a toast," he said. "To us."

"To us?" Dean, on the other hand, sounded like he was regretting agreeing to come. Castiel supposed it was coming on a little strong, being too presumptuous. He backtracked.

"Yes. I think we're going to make an excellent team."

To this, Dean clinked his glass gently against the one in Castiel's hand.

"To us."

"Are you nervous?" Castiel asked. He was hoping Dean would ask him, and then maybe they could have a heart-to-heart.

"Uh, yeah. I don't know what to expect here."

"Basically, everyone will talk at you about all their many achievements which include making money, shameless self-promotion, and that time they got a hole-in-one," Castiel voiced his issues with these functions. Or at least, some of them. He felt like Dean would understand completely how much he would hate these things. "Unless, I suppose, you get cornered by Gabriel and Balthazar, whose boasts will include how much they spent on Cristal, which actress they slept with squeals like a pig and the weirdest places they've had sex."

Dean started coughing on his drink, and Castiel passed him a napkin, intrigued by Dean's reaction. Perhaps he didn't think billionaires indulged in physical pleasures, which meant that he would never be fully prepared for the middle Novak brothers.

"I'm sorry, did that shock you?"

"No, no, just," Dean's voice sounded strained. He cleared his throat, and changed tack. "Um, so you don't like the boasting?"

Just _what_? What had made Dean react? Maybe it was thinking that Gabriel and Balthazar considered anywhere unusual to have sex. Although kudos to Balthazar, he had scored at Planned Parenthood once. Not a patient, the receptionist, who Balthazar had seen at least two other times, once before and once after. Which Castiel believed was his longest relationship to date. But that wasn't what Dean was asking about.

"No. I don't like it when they turn it around on me either, like 'Oh Castiel, I've just bought a castle, that makes three castles in my portfolio now, how are your property investments coming along?' Because they don't truly care whether or not I make property purchases, they just want to make themselves look more impressive because they have three entire castles more than a Novak."

It felt so good to express that. It was all so blatant to him, and he hated it. And he hated how Michael and Lucifer played into it. How Michael would smile and say that rather than buying castles, he had invested heavily in the National Trust and could therefore consider most properties of historical interest part of his portfolio. How Lucifer would laugh and inform them that castles were no longer in vogue and if you were going to throw money away, you might as well buy shares in Betamax.

Dean grinned at him.

"Wait, you don't have a castle? I'm not sure about this deal any more."

"Shut up," Castiel found himself smiling too, taking it as the joke it was intended to be. He couldn't believe he had just told Dean to shut up. He couldn't believe he didn't feel nervous talking to him, even now. His nerves were all for the upcoming evening. It was the best idea to ask Dean, he would never have come without him. "Please, just deflect them. I'm not that good at it."

"Sure you are. You sassed me in my studio."

"It's different, with you." Castiel looked into his nearly empty glass, feeling bashful. It would be too easy to blurt out how he felt about Dean, and put him off before they even showed up. "You're not looking to compete with me. You were just hungry."

"So, it's not because I'm a little person?"

Castiel looked back at him. Did he come across that way? Did Dean think he was as bad as everyone he was forced to socialise with? Then why had Dean agreed to come? He tried to reassure him that, despite appearances, he was very much interested in Dean. All while not actually saying he was interested, because God knew what Dean's story even was.

"I would never think that, Dean. It's because you make me feel comfortable, like I'm part of the joke rather than the butt of it. And you're not putting any pressure on me either, not like my brothers." He slumped in his seat, as reality took hold. His brothers were going to be there. This time in the limousine, talking with Dean like they had known each other forever, it wasn't going to last. This was what he wanted, this time with Dean, this conversation, this back and forth, and Dean's sense of humour and slightly Southern accent and his firm chest and that faint smell of hard work that lingered under the spice of his cologne. "Let's blow it off. Kevin, take me back."

Maybe an evening with Dean in the mansion would be better. He could show Dean his art collection, get his advice on where to put his new statue. Maybe make out with the man, if he were willing.

"Kevin don't," Dean was more assertive. He slid over, closer to Castiel. Within touching distance. Castiel felt like a magnet, drawn to him, but he made himself keep a respectful space between them. "I thought you couldn't get out of this? Isn't that the entire reason I'm here?"

Not the entire reason. The entire reason was that Castiel was ridiculously attracted to him and couldn't just ask him out like a normal person.

"I appreciate you making all this effort for me Dean, but I can't do it. I can't. Everyone always wants to know all my business, and the truth is," Oh no, Castiel could feel a panic attack coming, could hear the hysteria in his voice. He tried to do his breathing, to focus on the glass in his hand. "The truth is, I'm just not like the rest of my family. I'm not some business whizz kid like Michael, or a smooth talker like Luke. I don't like partying like Gabe and Balth. I'm the failure Novak."

It was a truth that most people discovered when they spoke to Castiel. That he was dull, and quiet, and didn't boast. That he didn't do marketing or invest in businesses in order to manipulate more out of the deals. That he couldn't speak about his issues, and sometimes couldn't talk at all. Dean slid his fingers into Castiel's hand, pressing his finger tips gently against Castiel's palm. It had a surprising effect, because Castiel would have presumed Dean's touch would have triggered a bad attack, but instead, he felt more centred. Like Dean was grounding him.

"Look, Cas," Dean's voice was low, close to his ear. "We haven't known each other long but I like the guy you are. You do have a lot going for you. Screw anyone who doesn't like what you are. And if you don't want them to find anything out, I'll be your buffer, right?"

Could Dean be any less perfect?

"Right."

"So, we're going to this thing, and we'll drink way too much champagne and you'll laugh at me when I eat caviar and hate it, and we'll keep to ourselves as much as possible."

"Thank you," Castiel couldn't get his voice above a whisper. He wanted to cry, because Dean seemed to understand the panic, and the dread, and he knew how to make it seem easier to cope with. He took another deep breath and another slug of his drink, and Dean let go of his hand. Castiel fought the need to grab it back, even though he had the feeling Dean would be okay with it. The impulse wasn't a romantic one - this time - but a need to centre himself on that touch again. He forced himself to find another crutch, and settled on the alcohol, just as he noticed the entrance to the golf course grounds.

"Here's the golf course. Ugh."

"Game faces on."

Castiel didn't know what he meant, but he appreciated the effort all the same. He picked the bottle up and refilled their glasses.

"Kevin, pull over for a second, I'm not ready yet."

He heard the screen slide up as the car pulled to the side of the road, and he drained his glass in one gulp, refilling his glass automatically. Beside him, Dean was taking his time, and Castiel tried to make a joke of the situation.

"Come on, Dean, drink up."

"I'm gonna need to be able to walk still, Cas." He teased back, but did seem to speed up regardless. It wasn't the first time that Dean had called him Cas, and though he was unused to nicknames, he liked it. It seemed natural for Dean to call him that, and somehow it seemed more intimate. It helped Castiel refocus. Maybe Cas was more confident than Castiel. Maybe he could use Cas as a shield.

"Okay, here's how it is." Castiel tried to be Cas the confident as he refilled their glasses once more. "You and I stick together the whole time, okay? If anyone asks if we're dating, you don't say yes or no, just change the subject. But we play up to it just enough that people wonder anyway. I don't want to spend more than two minutes with anyone else if we can help it, and if I want to go, we go. Even if we've been in there ten minutes and you haven't been grossed out by caviar yet. I said I'd come, I didn't say I'd stay."

Dean took a mouthful of champagne before answering, giving Castiel the time to feel proud of himself for being so assertive. Cas knew exactly what he wanted, it turned out.

"So, do we hold hands?" Dean wanted to know.

"We can," Castiel nodded, trying to react as Cas would, all suave and confident instead of full of crippling self-doubt. But both sides of him wanted that contact with Dean. "And anything you want to say to me, whisper it in my ear. Even if it's just about the Mayor's wife and her four chins. It'll look more couple-y."

Dean smirked, but didn't disagree. Castiel wondered whether, as Cas, he could convince Dean that a heavy make out session was included also. But he refrained, and knocked against the screen, signalling to Kevin that he was ready. He finished his drink, and put the glass back, doing the same with Dean's glass when he had finished drinking. Moments later, the car stopped, and Dean reached for the handle.

"Don't do that. It's Kevin's job."

Dean frowned back at him, and Castiel gave a shrug. It wasn't something Castiel wanted to discuss right then, because Kevin was technically still on probation - Michael had insisted - and while they were this close to so many other socialites, it wouldn't do to have Kevin act out of turn. Dean would just have to be indignant until he could explain more fully what that situation was. Kevin opened the door, and Dean slid out, then turned and held a hand out to Castiel.

Castiel's heart thudded harder in his chest. Dean was so cute, and honourable and moral and helpful and sexy and … he refocused. He was Cas, and he was in charge. He took Dean's offered hand, holding it tightly, and pulled himself out of the car, not letting go of Dean now he had hold of him again. Cas wanted to hold hands all night. He heard Dean thank Kevin before he could, and they walked together into the club house. A few journalists were there, trying to get pictures of the elite, and Castiel was glad they had no clue who he was. A few people called for Dean as they recognised him, but it was after they had already walked past, and were entering the building.

Cas led the way into the main function room, where they ran into Lucifer almost straight away. Lucifer was already annoyed that Castiel had overridden him on Kevin's appointment, and sided with Michael over hiring new drivers, and it was evident in the snarky tone he adopted.

"Castiel! You came! Is this a sign of the coming apocalypse?" He sneered at Dean, who he must have recognised. Castiel's brothers had spent enough time in the last few months talking to Dean's face on the front of Time when they wanted Castiel's attention. "And you brought a friend who isn't Meg Masters. Interesting."

Lucifer wasn't done, of course. He was the one to encourage Castiel to go out and meet a guy and stop stalking Dean. Dating Dean wasn't stalking him, was it? And yet, Lucifer didn't appear appeased in the slightest as he continued his digs, giving Dean a very obvious look up-and-down. Twice.

"So, is this a prank you devised with Gabriel, or did you and your little girlfriend break up?"

Lucifer knew that Meg wasn't, and never would be, Castiel's girlfriend. He was clearly trying to make things awkward between himself and Dean. Castiel felt the confident mask slip.

"Cas, did you need a drink? Where's the bar?" He was squeezing Castiel's hand hard, "Excuse us," Dean passed Lucifer, not trying to bend around him, and Castiel followed him willingly into the centre of the room, their hands still gripping on to each other. Luke had undone the confidence that Castiel had felt, but Dean was there like a life buoy, keeping him safe from a total meltdown. He grabbed two glasses from a passing waiter, and pulled Castiel into the corner of the room, handing a glass over.

"Thanks, Dean," he spoke quietly, all his confidence gone. He meant for getting away from Lucifer, not for the wine. It had been as horrible as he had expected, seeing his brothers the first time he got to really spend time with Dean.

"Anytime. Luke's an asshole."

"True," Castiel leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. There it was again, Dean's knack for phrasing things bluntly but honestly. Lucifer was an asshole. He knew what Dean meant to Castiel.

"Oh, you've met." Michael sounded close by, and surprised. Castiel opened his eyes, hoping that Michael wouldn't blab everything to Dean and make things uncomfortable. But Michael was looking at Dean, not Castiel, as he spoke. And Dean was the one who answered.

"Uh, yeah. Hi."

There was a familiarity in Dean's tone that implied he had already met Michael. When? What had Michael said to him?

"You didn't get the Armani," Michael criticised. Had Michael tried to engineer some of this thing between Dean and himself? He couldn't think of anything more embarrassing. And he had an idea of which tux Michael was referring to, it was black with satin lapels and Dean would have been too good-looking to resist in it. Castiel was already struggling not to jump him.

"Um, no. I had another appointment. I didn't get the time."

They were too familiar with each other. Castiel felt his heart sink. He was pretty sure that Michael had set this up, which meant that there was no point doing these things with Dean. They wouldn't be getting to know each other the way Castiel had imagined, wouldn't be falling in love naturally. It was all yet another manipulation.

"Well, the Cavalli works. Not as well, but I guess it's just a question of taste."

What was Michael trying to hint at, that Castiel had no taste? That Dean wasn't as good-looking as he could be? His brothers could be awful even when they thought they were helping.

"I like Cavalli," he said quietly, unable to do more to defend himself.

"There you go, we've got the same taste." Dean sounded friendly, but firm. As though he could tell even this conversation was getting to Castiel and wanted to end it. Or he remembered that technically, Castiel was paying him to say things like that. Michael didn't seem put off, like he couldn't read Castiel's irritation at all.

"Indeed. You should tell him about your art, I'm sure he'd appreciate it. Excuse me, I can see Luke is going to upset the Mayor's wife."

Michael walked away, and Castiel watched Dean as he turned back to him. It was as though Dean could read the accusation in his expression, like he knew Castiel suspected Michael had set this whole thing up.

"He kind of walked in on my fitting. He told me you were a fan."

Castiel wanted to believe him, but it would be so Michael to think up a cover story like that. And he didn't want to be paranoid about Dean, he didn't want Michael to sound so unsurprised that Castiel had bit the bullet and asked Dean out. He just wanted to enjoy the company of the man he was crazy about already. Dean was still talking.

"Something about this piece in Time magazine? I didn't know Michael would have read it."

Castiel went into a full anxiety attack, and froze to the spot. Michael mentioned the magazine article. Had he laughed about Castiel's fixation and begged Dean to go out with him, to play along with Castiel's awkwardness but eventually agree? Was this a set up?

"Cas? Are you okay? I mean, Michael's focus was on my suit, not on you. Isn't that the point?"

He didn't know what to do. He could hear Dean, he registered the words, but he couldn't function, couldn't answer. The room felt massive, Dean felt like an ocean away, and the only thing anchoring him was Dean's fingers pressed against his own.

"Castiel!" Gabriel's voice punctured the air, and Castiel felt the panic rise further. Not them, not after that interaction with Michael. It was too much. "Balth, he came! I told you he would, even if Meg's gone away for the weekend. And who's this hot piece of ass?"

He wanted to kill them. If he could make himself move.

"It's the artist guy! Remember Gabe? Castiel wouldn't shut up about him for weeks. Did you offer him a blow job to come, Cassie?"

Either his brothers couldn't tell he was having an attack, or they didn't care. Or worse, they knew and they were using it to their advantage. He couldn't believe they'd just mentioned his crush, to his crush. But of course Balthazar wasn't finished. They never were.

"If you didn't, I'd have a go. He looks delicious."

Balthazar reached for Dean's behind, and squeezed, making Dean jump and glare at him, finally breaking up Gabriel and Balthazar's duo act.

"Dude, not cool." He snapped. Balthazar wasn't troubled by Dean's anger at all.

"We get it, your ass is for Cas," Gabriel rolled his eyes, and nudged his brother. "Besides Balth, it's more fun to mess with Amara."

As they left, Dean looked with concern at Castiel.

"Sorry."

Castiel hadn't expected Dean to apologise. What did he have to apologise for? It was Castiel's brothers acting up, after all. He forced himself to speak.

"It's okay. They're very full on."

He was really hoping Dean wouldn't ask about the blow job.

"It's not. I said I'd buffer and I didn't."

That was what Dean was apologising for? Maybe he wasn't a pawn of Michael's, maybe he was just trying to make Castiel happy. It was all so confusing. They should have spent more time together before doing this, before meeting Castiel's family. But he could understand why Dean hadn't done it. Balthazar and Gabriel were a shock to the system even for people who knew them well.

"Balthazar touched you. I don't blame you. I'm not happy with him."

He hadn't meant to say that, but it was true. He was angry with every single one of his brothers. They knew Dean was a big deal, they knew Castiel didn't want to come, they knew it would be hard for him. And not one of them had been supportive. They'd all been focused on their own agendas, as usual. Castiel couldn't believe that Balthazar had grabbed at Dean, violating his personal space.

"Why?" Dean sounded curious, and Castiel felt himself begin to calm down.

"Because he touched you. That's not okay."

At least when Dean had held his hand, it was something that they had agreed on. He had resisted touching Dean as intimately as he wanted to.

"Because I'm your guest?" Dean sounded surprised.

"Partially. But he didn't ask either, didn't check if you'd be okay with it. He doesn't know you're straight."

Dean seemed sheepish as he shuffled closer, whispering in Castiel's ear, his lips bumping against Castiel's skin and sending shivers everywhere. Dean smelled incredible up close, and the heat of his body seemed to permeate the few inches separating them, heating Castiel's blood further. The anticipation was enthralling.

"Actually, I'm not. But I'm still not okay with him doing it. I'm here with you."

Dean wasn't straight. Castiel had a chance. It was heady and suddenly the room didn't seem to have enough air. Dean was gay, and he had said the best thing ever. He was there with Castiel. No one else was getting a look in. There was a possibility that his brothers hadn't ruined everything, that they could be together. He tried to calm down, to not run away with this revelation. He merely gave Dean's hand a squeeze.

"Can we ditch out soon? Now we've shown up and kind of socialised?"

Castiel really didn't want to see his brothers any more for the evening, but he did want to spend time with Dean. Dean who seemed agreeable, and relieved himself. Maybe he wasn't a stooge of Michael's, after all.

"Sure. You call the shots."

"Castiel!"

They were interrupted by a large voice, who seemed to draw all the attention towards them. Castiel saw the man approaching and groaned. He was an old business associate of his fathers, one who the late Mr Novak tended to distance himself from rather hastily. He was the worst for boasts of grandeur. Dean stepped away from Castiel slightly as they were accosted.

"Rarely see you at these things! Is Michael getting you into the business finally? Like a real Novak?"

Castiel didn't know what to say. Dean seemed speechless also.

"Got any prospective clients? Or building your portfolio? What are you doing, young Novak, hmmm?"

Dean finally found his voice, speaking quietly to balance the loudness of this man.

"He's supporting a local artist."

Castiel knew he was talking about himself. It was a strange way to view it, but then maybe Dean understood how to play the game better than Castiel had ever tried to. And he wished he had phrased it that way before. Castiel had a tonne of local art, he could claim that was his portfolio, if anyone asked in future. If he had the nerve to answer. He could hear the guy pressing for more information, and Dean answering, but he wasn't paying any attention until they were freed of the conversation, and Castiel could pull Dean out into the fresh air. They walked together towards the first green, still clasping hands. Dean seemed to be walking closer to him, their steps matching each other.

"It's okay that I said that, right?" Dean asked.

"It's fine." He was starting to feel better. The cool air and lack of other people was calming him down, as was Dean's constant presence by his side. Castiel still wasn't sure if Dean was being bribed by Michael, but he decided to trust him. Despite the massive crush, Castiel found him easy to be around, to talk with.

"So, you normally come to these things with Meg?" Dean helped him up a bunker. Castiel began to hope that maybe, if they got far away enough from the clubhouse, under the cover of the night time, maybe he and Dean could … he realised Dean was waiting for an answer.

"Yes, when I can't get out of it. We've known each other since we were tiny. She's my best friend."

"She doesn't have much time for it either, huh?"

"No. Shhh!" Castiel thought he had heard noises coming from the copse of trees they'd been aiming for. They stopped walking and strained to listen, and hushed voices filtered through the stirring of leaves. Castiel started walking away from those trees, still avoiding the clubhouse.

"It's probably Gabe or Balth, and some chick they came across," Castiel found himself explaining. "I hate this."

They stopped walking again, and Dean let go of his hand to pull him into a hug. And despite Castiel wanting something like this all evening, as soon as Dean took hold of him, he froze up. He wanted to hold Dean back, test the waters and see if Dean would kiss him, but he still wasn't sure if Dean was interested. Even pressed up against each other, even in his embrace. What if Castiel started holding him back and didn't let go and he put Dean off? He seemed easy going, but it was clear he had his limits at the same time.

"Do you want to go now?" Dean asked quietly. Castiel felt himself relax, grateful that Dean had kept that in mind, but kicking himself a little for being so indecisive that the moment with Dean had passed.

"Please. I'll let Kevin know, he'll pick us up at the entrance."

He sent the text and they walked back to the clubhouse, walking around it rather than through it to where Kevin was waiting with the limousine. They climbed in, and Castiel laid against the bench on the side of the car, exhausted from trying to read so many people, and keep in his own emotions.

"Thank you Dean. Sorry it was so awful."

"It's fine. I didn't think Michael was so big a dick." Dean seemed breezy as he spoke, and Castiel wondered again what there was between his eldest brother and the artist. "I was worried about you, I mean, how many more things are they forcing you to go to?"

Dean worried about him? It was difficult not to swoon. Castiel couldn't remember exactly what he had lined up, but it was all the same kind of thing really.

"A couple of auctions, someone's birthday, a few more of these networking events that seem to have no real purpose."

"Ouch," Dean winced, like he had forgotten that he had agreed to attend these things as well.

"Yes. Meg normally makes it easier for me. But it was bearable tonight too."

It truly hadn't been, except for Dean's presence. Dean holding him …

"Thanks?" Dean sounded skeptical.

"That's a good thing. I like you, Dean." Castiel couldn't believe he'd confessed to that.

"Even if I actually did okay with Michael?"

Why would Dean bring that up? Castiel was getting a little nauseated, trying to work out whether or not this thing with Dean was genuine, or whether Michael had a hand in it. He didn't want to say anything unless he was sure he had the situation correct.

"Hmmm? Oh, that wasn't a problem."

"Yeah? You seemed a little pissed off."

It was almost unnerving, how well Dean could read him already.

"Don't worry about that," Castiel tried to change the subject, to avoid where he thought Dean was going to bring it to. He grabbed the bottle of champagne. "Want to help me finish this off?"

"Is there anything left in there?" Dean grinned. Castiel poured their drinks once more, passing Dean's glass over, as Dean joked again. "You don't have to get me drunk."

Dean had to stop saying things like that, if Castiel was going to retain any kind of control.

"Shut up," Castiel scooted closer, already testing his resolve. "Drink the damn champagne. We're near your neighbourhood now."

Dean knocked back his drink, and Castiel did the same, trying to keep pace with him. They were drinking quickly, and Castiel could feel his head swimming pleasantly.

"So, when do I see you next?' Dean asked, his voice almost purring. Castiel could feel his resolve disappearing, and he knew he was in dangerous territory. Luckily, they were nearly at Dean's house.

"Tomorrow, if that's okay? Meg's still away."

"Of course it's okay, Cas. That's the deal, right?

"It's always polite to ask. I like that you call me Cas, by the way. Everyone else just says my full name. I think my brothers do it to make a point, but most other people sound surprised. Like I actually exist."

"I called you the mystery Novak when we first met."

"I know. You couldn't remember it. I preferred that to 'oh my goodness, _you're_ Castiel Novak?' Because you didn't make me sound like herpes."

"I was kind of hoping you'd keep coming back. Hey, you wanna come in?"

Castiel wanted it very much. He never wanted to leave Dean's side. But at the same time, the night was beginning to take its toll on him, and all he wanted was some sleep. If he went in with Dean, he wouldn't sleep at all.

"Not this time, Dean. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Let me know when you get home, okay?"

He climbed out of the car, and approached the house. Kevin waited until he had unlocked the door to pull away, and Castiel slumped back down on the bench.

On the one hand, it felt like his emotions were reciprocated. Dean _seemed_ interested. But on the other, he was still suspicious of whatever there might have been between Dean and Michael. He wanted this to be one thing his brothers didn't interfere with. He wanted genuine emotions, and for someone to understand who he was and respect that. To grow together with someone. And he didn't care if his brothers thought he was deluded, or lost in fantasy. It had to be possible somehow, and why couldn't it be possible with Dean?

"Castiel? Are you okay?" Kevin's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yes. I'm exhausted."

"Okay. I'll go back to your house."

"Please."

Castiel's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read his text.

- _Enjoyed tonight. Well, the parts with you in it. Sam and Charlie were laying in wait for me._

-It must be nice to have siblings so concerned for your well-being.

- _I think yours are too, you know. They just have a funny way of showing it._

-I'm at home now, Dean. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I'll speak with you in the morning.

- _Can't wait._


	6. Chapter 6

**So ... I only got a C in GCSE French ...**

* * *

"So how did you meet Dean?" Michael asked Castiel the next morning. He had called Castiel into the study, and Castiel was apprehensive over what he could possibly want. His worst fears felt like they were being confirmed.

"He won Edith's prize. I nominated him." Castiel spoke quietly.

"I know, but I hadn't realised you'd met already. That's not your usual style."

"How did you meet him?" Castiel tried to deflect Michael's meddling. Michael steepled his fingers and leaned on his desk.

"I was at Braeden's, I accidentally walked into his fitting. I presume you had already met him by then?"

Castiel gave a short nod.

"I booked the appointment for him."

Michael smiled, and tapped his forefingers together.

"It didn't seem like you had met already."

Castiel shrugged. He could easily tell Michael that he had asked for discretion, but he was still wary about his brother's motivations. It was easier not to tell him anything.

"Will we be seeing him with you again?"

"Tonight." Castiel confirmed. There was no point in lying about that.

"Then can I request that you spend longer than five minutes at the auction? I know that you're besotted by Dean, and I like him as far as I know him. But sneaking off after a few minutes is behaviour more befitting Balthazar or Gabriel. I've said before, Castiel, you need to be there representing our family."

There it was. Of course Michael wasn't just enthusiastic that Castiel had met someone, that he potentially had a good relationship brewing. He had to find something to nitpick.

"Fine."

"I'll be checking up on you, Castiel. No running off."

Castiel stood up.

"Dean and I will stay the entire night." He promised, and left the study before Michael could insist on any other conditions. He was halfway down the hallway when he reheard what Michael had just said. He liked Dean as far as he knew him. How far was that? He wished he could stop obsessing over it, but if Michael were interfering he would feel devastated.

His phone beeped with a text message, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

- _Being a total pain in the ass, could you come over early tonight? Sam and Charlie want to grill you._

-I don't taste good grilled.

- _Haha. Seriously, can you come meet them? Properly? I think Sam might actually ban me from seeing you if you don't. You wouldn't think I was the eldest the way they're going on._

-I think I'd like that very much, Dean. We won't be able to leave tonight early, Michael's keeping a close eye on me so that I don't.

- _That blows. But you got me there, all night._

-And that's the only reason I'm going to cope. Thank you so much, Dean.

- _Don't worry about it. We make a good team, right?_

"Castiel!"

His head snapped up, and he saw Kevin standing in front of him, looking nervous.

"Sorry, I've been calling you for a while."

"My apologies, I was exchanging text messages with Dean."

Kevin grinned.

"Ahhhh, okay. I've prepared the limousine and I just wanted to double check where I'm driving you once we've gotten Dean?"

Castiel and Kevin walked slowly back to the garage, discussing the plan for the evening.

* * *

Kevin had delivered Castiel to Dean's house half an hour before the time they needed to leave. He felt less nervous than he would have expected, the excitement of spending time with Dean was enough to calm him slightly. He resolved that, this time, if Dean were to hug him, he would hug right back.

He strode up the walkway and rang the doorbell, which was answered swiftly by Charlie. She blinked a couple of times, and looked him up and down.

"Hello. Is Dean ready?" He asked. She continued eyeing him.

"Come in." She stood aside, but there was still some hostility radiating from her. It was strange how different she was from the first time they had met, though Castiel knew that she wanted to 'grill' him. He didn't know why they were so protective of their older brother, but at the same time, Castiel knew Dean was special. Maybe he'd been used before, and that was why they wanted their big brother taken care of.

Footsteps clumped down the stairs, and Dean appeared in a different tux, but his hair parted in the same way. Did he know how much it made Castiel's mouth water when he wore it that way?

"Uh, hi?" He gave a sheepish smile. Charlie looked at him, and back to Castiel.

"Yeah, Dean's ready," She finally answered him. "What's your name again?"

Dean hadn't even told his sister who he was? Castiel was flattered that he had paid attention enough to have that kind of discretion. Maybe Dean also wanted to avoid a shrill overreaction like he expected Charlie would make. Still, he was about to spend thirty minutes with her, and Dean, and their other brother. He could hardly be rude and not give it, though it caused that anxious sensation in his stomach.

"Cas-Castiel."

He hated it when his nerves made him stutter. Charlie nodded and frowned, as Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"You want a drink?" He smiled. He was so cute, and his hand on Castiel's shoulder alone made his entire body tingle. He needed a drink, for sure.

"Yes. What do you have?"

"Beer. Or some weird, fruity chick drink that Charlie likes."

Castiel wondered briefly if Dean was a misogynist, but then he saw Charlie's eye roll and realised it was just sibling teasing. Or at least, he hoped. He drew his shoulders up, and tried to tamp down the anxiety of telling Charlie who he was. He focused on Dean.

"I can drink beer."

Dean smirked, and bit his lips together to try to repress it, before guiding Castiel into the kitchen. The aroma coming from the room was delicious. Fresh and a hint of spice. There were vegetables roasting in the oven and Dean's brother was sautéing chickpeas in a frying pan.

"That's Sam," Dean pointed to Sam's back. Castiel already knew, from the day before, but they hadn't really been introduced properly. Sam looked around, watching Dean approach the fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. He snapped the caps off with no issue, and Castiel was quietly impressed. He needed a bottle opener every time, but then he didn't work with metal every day. Or drink very often.

"Dean? If you're going out with this guy, should you both be drinking? Who's driving?" Sam asked, his voice full of concern.

"Sam's a lawyer," Dean informed Castiel, ignoring his brother's questions. "We're about to get a lecture on drink driving."

Castiel gave him an indulgent smile as he took his bottle, and then gave Sam the answer he was still waiting for.

"Neither of us are driving, this is safe." He tried to quell Sam's concerns. There was something about Dean's calm brother that allayed the anxiety his sister brought forth.

"What are you possibly going to-" Sam began, getting cut off by a squeal from Charlie. Castiel's defences rose again.

"You're Castiel?" She announced loudly, her smile wide and mischievous. "As in, Castiel _Novak_?"

Castiel's heart sank, and he looked at Dean. This was what he had told Dean only the night before, the way people said his name. He could tell by Dean's expression that he registered it as well. There was silence for a moment, before Dean rallied and tried to undo the panic that his sister's words would instil.

"I see what you mean. Like herpes." He smirked. Castiel smiled back gratefully, and Sam groaned by the stove.

"Dean, you're the only person I know who could have a date with a billionaire and talk about herpes five minutes in." He shook his head and focused on Castiel. "I'm sorry about my brother."

"There's no need to apologise," Castiel offered. "It's something I said to Dean yesterday. And neither of us are driving because I have a chauffeur. He's young, but cautious. There's really nothing to worry about."

Sam seemed appeased by this, but he wasn't done interrogating Castiel. He'd barely started.

"And the upgrade at the hockey game, do we have you to thank for that too?"

"Ye-yes," Castiel cringed his way through the stutter, and explained himself. "Dean mentioned you were all going and I thought it might make up for me scheduling an appointment beforehand."

Dean thankfully didn't interject about the fact that he hadn't said a word to Castiel. Possibly, he realised that Kevin had been in touch and given Castiel the information.

"It totally did," Charlie was back to the enthusiastic woman Castiel had met originally. He still wasn't sure what to make of Dean's sister, as she dunked a stick of celery into a jar of peanut butter then ate it. "Sam thought Dean was doing something illegal. Got to admit, I wondered too. I mean, you bought his statue when he'd only built her up to her waist. Could have been a dealer." She thought for a moment, before clarifying. "A drug dealer, not an art one."

"I'm sorry for my sister," Dean muttered, and drained half of his bottle in one mouthful.

"She's harmless. You met Balthazar," Castiel tried to joke.

"True. And I still agreed to see you tonight."

Castiel forced a smile. He didn't want to imagine Dean not agreeing to see him.

"You did." His voice had softened, and he really hoped that Charlie and Sam hadn't heard it. He cast his eyes around the kitchen and noticed the time on their clock, clearing his throat and trying to sound authoritative. "Talking of, we're going to be late. And while I don't care too much about being on time at all, I really don't want to hear Michael's opinion on the matter all evening. We should go."

"Right, sure." Dean put his beer bottle on the counter and grinned at Sam. "Don't wait up, guys."

"Sure we won't," Charlie answered, sounding very much like she would stay up all night just to ask Dean all about the night's date. Dean took Castiel's hand and led the way to the car, and Castiel's heart leaped at the contact. He hadn't even asked Dean to do it, and he'd made the effort in front of his siblings.

And then reason caught up with him. Dean was pretending to be his boyfriend to everyone else. The hand-holding meant nothing in public, even if it made his entire arm tingle.

"Sorry," Dean breathed in his ear as they approached Kevin. "They want to know everything. All the time."

Castiel had thought it wasn't that bad, really. Neither Sam nor Charlie really got into interrogating him thoroughly. Neither of them had asked Dean about blow jobs or picked on their clothing choices.

"It's fine, Dean."

They climbed into the limousine, and Castiel reached straight for the alcohol before sitting back in his seat, feeling looser now that they were alone in the car. "I could tell it came from a place of concern. They want you looked after and happy. You don't have to provide evidence of your spending and future business plans to both your eldest brothers."

Not that Castiel had ever done either, though both Michael and Lucifer could be adamant he do so. He leaned against the backrest, looking up at the LED ceiling, and wished once again that he could just have these times with Dean. Maybe one time, instead of an event, he could take Dean to his yacht, give him a grand tour. Cuddle up on the bed together and watch Sabrina. He could feel the sexy artist's eyes on him.

"What's up with that anyway? With the whole mystery angle or whatever?"

Castiel turned and looked at him, frowning. He had explained already, hadn't he? That his brothers made him feel like a complete failure? He reiterated it, in case Dean had forgotten.

"You mean, why haven't I committed to either following Michael and Lucifer into their various business interests, or spending time indulging in physical pleasures the way Gabe and Balthazar do?"

"Luke's name is Lucifer?" Dean laughed. Castiel wasn't deterred, although he was surprised by how little Dean seemed to know.

"Yes. You can see why he goes by Luke. Regardless, I'm not interested in debauchery. And the politics of business acquisition bored me. The issue is, I'm not sure what does pique my interest. Except maybe for your creations."

Why did he have to let that slip? He opened the champagne bottle still clutched in his hands, and poured them both a glass. He was in need of Dutch courage again. Thankfully, when Dean took his glass, he changed the subject, and didn't dwell on what Castiel had let slip.

"So, where are we going this time?"

"A silent auction. Which I suppose is better than some events. Only the winner gets to boast."

"I take it you're not bidding on anything?"

Castiel hadn't even thought about bidding. He'd concentrated more on time with Dean, on avoiding his brothers. He drank from his glass and debated it. Michael and Lucifer were both on his case to spend his money more often. Lucifer because he couldn't see why Castiel wouldn't indulge, Michael because he would talk about investments and contributing to the economy. Castiel wasn't a miser, he donated to charities and tried to help those less fortunate in other ways. But this auction was meant to be raising money for a new homeless shelter close by.

"I don't know. The profit does go to charity. It might be worthwhile."

"You could get a boat," Dean chuckled at his own sense of humour.

"I have one," he admitted. He had never told anyone about his boat. And now Dean knew, and Kevin if he were listening in. He hoped it wouldn't change either of their perceptions of him, to know he had something so stereotypical of the wealthy. "I suppose I could bid on one for you."

Dean snorted in derision.

"What am I going to do with a boat?" He sounded amused, like it was crazy to think of owning a boat. "Besides, you're already spending enough on me."

Castiel cleared his throat nervously, and pressed the button that gave them privacy from Kevin. He felt ashamed just thinking of Kevin hearing that he was paying Dean for his time. It would be hard to explain, to make anyone else understand, just what Castiel would have given to have Dean.

"If you don't mind, Dean, I'd rather even Kevin didn't know about our deal."

"I didn't mean that," Dean's tone was regretful, like he thought he'd annoyed Castiel and wanted to appease him. Maybe he was worried he wouldn't get the paycheck at the end of it all. "I meant with the ice hockey, and the suits, and the statue and the champagne and stuff."

Castiel hadn't even thought about that end of it. He was so used to just giving to those who needed it, and spoiling the few people he cared about. The champagne was more Michael's thing, but the rest … it was strange that Dean was tallying everything, not just the cash. And it made Castiel feel uncomfortable, suddenly. As though he were being frivolous.

"Still. Please don't mention it."

"Okay. I have a couple of questions though." Dean pressed. Castiel looked at him, hoping he would read his body language and stop discussing money.

"I thought you understood-"

"No, no I get it," Dean reassured him. "I know how you want it when we do these things, but you met my brother and sister. Charlie's a techno god, Sam can spot a lie a mile off. I guess I wanted to know what to tell them so they don't dig and hack my email or my cell and find out the truth. They'd go crazy at me."

"Oh." Castiel looked away for a moment, considering this. Dean wasn't asking about money, he was concerned with his own family. As if Dean needed to become any more attractive. Dean wasn't asking to tell them about the money, it seemed, but about how they connected. Maybe Dean was as ashamed of the cash as Castiel was. Not that it would stop Castiel giving it to him. He turned back, and felt his heart leaping in his chest as he looked at the beautiful man who was watching him intently. "Tell them whatever you want. Just make sure they're not going to tell anyone else."

He wondered if Dean knew he was referring to Charlie only. Sam didn't seem like a gossip, from their brief interactions.

"So I can say you're my boyfriend? Because they think we're on a date right now and that way they'll just talk about my dating life."

It gave Castiel a thrill that ran all over his body to hear Dean refer to him as his boyfriend. But it wasn't true, and it was a lie too far. Maybe if it were true, Castiel wouldn't care who knew about it. He'd proudly go to so many of these things with Dean as his boyfriend. For now, he went with what he could bear.

"Could you just say that we're dating? Because if I'm at these things with Meg and there's press, that might create more questions."

And it would buy Castiel the time to work out if Dean would ever actually be interested in him as a boyfriend. Dean didn't argue.

"Sure. That'd probably work better for them." He smiled, but didn't expand, merely sipping some more of his drink. Castiel watched as Dean's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, almost hypnotised by it. He sipped some more of his champagne, and refilled the glass, feeling tipsy already. Surely it was the effect of Dean asking to call them boyfriends, no matter how false it was, and not one small glass of wine?

They pulled up to the venue where the auction was being held, and parked around the corner while Dean and Castiel finished off the bottle. Kevin opened the door, and again Dean climbed out first, then offered his hand to Castiel, leading the way with confidence, their hands clasped together. Castiel could almost pretend that there wasn't a deal involved, that Dean had simply asked him to be his boyfriend in the limousine.

They were less fortunate this time with the press outside, who seemed excited not only to see Castiel, but to realise who he was attending with. They arranged themselves on the red carpet, and Castiel tried not to beam too widely at having Dean there, pressed close to him, a hand on the small of his back as lights flashed before them. Gabriel and Balthazar soon burst the bubble Castiel felt they were in, but for once, he couldn't be mad. They merely shoved the two of them along, away from the press, to preen in front of the cameras themselves. Dean looked back at the two of them and their current dates, laughing. It was infectious, and soon Castiel was laughing along as well.

Dean carried on guiding him along with a hand on the small of his back as they made their way into the auction room, and started looking at the items on offer. Dean was whispering in his ear the whole time, making him laugh even more.

"Ahh, look, a romantic weekend in Paris! We could totally do that. You think they talk American out there?"

"Dean,"

"What about the diamond necklace? That is real, right? Think it'd look pretty on me?"

Castiel turned to look at him, finding Dean's face close to his, his eyes cast down to Castiel's lips. He raised his gaze and they stared at each other for a long moment, before Dean broke the look.

"You need a drink?" He asked, and looked around for the bar. Castiel felt the heat rush to his face. They had just had a moment, hadn't they? Dean was looking at his mouth, he still had his hand on Castiel's lower back. He wanted to tell his siblings they were each other's boyfriend. There had to be something on Dean's end. He let Dean guide him to the bar, and they ordered drinks, still standing close together. "How you doing?"

Castiel looked sideways at Dean, who was watching him cautiously. Did he realise how badly Castiel handled himself at these things?

"Better than I thought."

"Not good enough to get me that diamond necklace, huh?"

"I don't think those diamonds were retrieved ethically."

Dean gave him a cute smile, and accepted their drinks.

"So, romantic weekend in Paris?" Dean grinned. "I'll put out."

Castiel took a sip of his wine and shook his head. He couldn't tell if Dean was kidding. He didn't want to imagine what a trip to Paris with Dean would be like, because then there would be no way to resist throwing himself at the gorgeous artist.

"I know some French," Dean continued. "Je voudrais un baguette, sil vous plait monsieur."

"I love it when you talk French," Castiel grinned back. Dean leaned in even closer, their foreheads touching.

"Tu es beau ce soir."

Castiel's heart rate picked up even further, slamming against his chest. He had that light-headed sensation again, for what he was about to say.

"Je souhaite que ce soit reel, que vous soyez mein."

Dean frowned slightly. Maybe he wasn't quite as fluent as Castiel.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"

Castiel nearly blacked out. Did Dean mean that, or was it a phrase he knew well?

"What would you do if I said yes to that?" Castiel murmured.

"Isn't it obvious?"

They stared at each other once again, Castiel feeling like his veins were on fire. He pulled Dean out of the room, into a hallway that they possibly weren't meant to be in, and before he could overthink it, before he could regret any of it, he pushed Dean up against the wall and pressed their mouths together. Dean's lips caught at his, his arms winding their way around Castiel's waist, and Castiel groaned, resting his hands on Dean's chest, relishing the feel of their lips together, the way Dean's mouth began to move. He pulled away, worried Dean was trying to tell him off, but Dean tugged him right back against him, making sure they were kissing once more.

Dean was interested. God, Dean was more than interested. And Castiel couldn't contain himself, couldn't stop from kissing Dean over and over, from luxuriating in those strong arms, those talented lips. He tasted better than Castiel could have imagined, a delicious mix of the whiskey he'd ordered and a strange sweetness, like cherry syrup. He led the kiss, and Castiel let him, knowing it was best that Dean dictate this when he was ready to throw everything at him.

They pulled away eventually, though Castiel was dreading it. He didn't want to return to the real world, he wanted to stay in this one where Dean was his. He didn't want the awkward conversation that would follow.

"We should probably go back in there," Dean cleared his throat. "I mean, you were saying your brothers … you know."

Castiel was lost for words. He just nodded.

"I'm expecting that Paris trip now," Dean joked. "Even if we don't win it."

Castiel looked up, and into those warm green eyes. Dean was so kind, making sure he was comfortable after they basically threw themselves at each other. After he threw himself at Dean.

"I'll bid high." He whispered.

"Good. Although, we don't have to be in Paris … maybe later we could um … you could come back to mine?"

Castiel shivered as adrenaline shot through him. He wanted to stay in this hallway, in Dean's arms, for as long as possible. But Dean had made a good point, Michael would be unbearable if he knew that they had come to this auction only to sneak off and make out the whole time. As appealing as that prospect was. He made himself step back, and clear his throat.

"I hope to, Dean. But you're right, for now we should be back in there," he gestured towards the function room. Dean peeled himself off the wall and gently placed his hand on the small of Castiel's back once again, guiding him back to the bar and their drinks. They scooped them up, and browsed the lots once more, trying to pick something they could bid on, as well as the weekend in Paris .

The night began to blur together. All Castiel really cared about was that he was having the best time with Dean, and for once his apprehension wasn't an issue. Dean was funny, and gorgeous, and he kept a constant contact with him. Mainly it was the hand on his back, but occasionally, he could feel Dean's mouth brush his cheek or his neck. They talked between themselves a lot, not really filtering in anyone else in the room. Michael was sure to complain about that, but Castiel was too elated to be getting on with Dean to care.

They hadn't won the trip to Paris. Castiel had made a decent bid - anything to get more time with Dean - but clearly he wasn't the only one gunning for it. The moment it was announced was the first sign that something was wrong. Because Dean yanked him over to the winner, and started trying to talk the guy into handing it over despite Castiel's inhibitions. Castiel tried to quietly explain to him that he could easily pay for them to go and it would probably be several thousand dollars less, when another of their bids was called. A villa in Greece. Dean had been urging him to bid twenty cents and he may have lost track of what he actually put forward.

Next thing he knew, he was beside the announcer at the microphone, being urged to make a speech. Dean knew he was introverted, and anxious. And Dean was considerate, so Castiel couldn't figure out what the change was. He took Dean aside as soon as he could, and looked him over carefully. His pupils were pinpricks, and he was slightly clammy to touch.

"Dean, what did you take?" Castiel whispered.

"Champagne in the car, whiskey at the bar. And lots of you."

Castiel gave a wary smile, as he felt his heart bruising. Whatever Dean had been taken, or had been slipped, it was affecting his behaviour. Which meant that all of this between them was nothing but a farce.

"I'm taking you home," Castiel promised, and led the way to the valet station so they could call Kevin forward. Dean nuzzled against his throat, and Castiel bit back the tears that threatened. They sat slightly apart in the back through the drive back to Dean's house, and Dean began to look pale and exhausted. He still reached over as Kevin pulled up to the house, and gave Castiel a sad smile.

"I don't feel well. Can we get a rain check? I want to give you the best sex of your life." He planted a wet kiss on Castiel's mouth, and stumbled out of the car, waving Kevin away as he tried to help. Castiel climbed out of the limousine as well, watching his progress and debating whether to go and help him. He had just started forward when the door opened, and Sam let Dean inside, catching Castiel's eye with a stony expression on his face. Castiel approached despite his apprehension.

"What's up with my brother?" Sam demanded.

"I'm so sorry. I think his drink was tampered with. Everything was fine until maybe an hour ago."

"You said you'd look after him!"

"I didn't take my eyes off him. It's hard to do that," Castiel promised. "But we did leave our drinks for a few minutes. I wouldn't have expected … I don't know what's in his system right now. I can stay and help?"

Sam considered it for a moment, then shook his head.

"No. He needs to sleep. He'll let you know when he's up and feeling better."

Sam closed the door on him, and he had no choice but to return to the car, and Kevin. They climbed back in, and Castiel scooted close by the partition.

"You look crushed," Kevin noted as he made his way back to the Novak's mansion.

"I thought tonight … I thought things were going the way I had hoped they would. And then … I don't know what happened. Someone slipped him something. They must have."

"Why would they do that?" Kevin sounded baffled.

"Who knows?" Castiel sighed. "Maybe they're angry about how happy he makes me."

"Then they're stupid," Kevin was adamant. "Because I can tell even now he does, and he matters. You're worrying about him. And he does the same about you, worries about you. Thinks about you. Sometimes I see his expression in the rear view … it'll be okay, Castiel. You'll see."

Castiel smiled at Kevin's reassurances. Maybe he was right, maybe everything that happened throughout the night had been from the heart really. He had to hope he still had a chance with Dean. And that he'd live through Michael and Lucifer's shitfits in order to see that.


	7. Chapter 7

"What happened last night, Castiel?" Michael asked. "Dean didn't seem like himself."

Castiel tried to skip over the fact that Michael thought he knew what Dean was like. It was five in the morning, and Castiel had barely slept. He had stumbled upon Michael and Lucifer talking tersely in the kitchen and been drawn in to their discussion on the way to the coffee maker.

"He wasn't. I think his drink was tampered with."

"That's melodramatic of you," Lucifer rolled his eyes. Castiel didn't argue with him. "He embarrassed the both of you, and the rest of us."

"He wasn't himself." Castiel insisted.

"Or maybe your artist is just a jerk? A disrespectful-"

"He understands a lot more than you give him credit for. I think I know him better than you do, Luke." Castiel drew his shoulders in, already wishing he had never walked out of his quarters. "He would never have done that normally. So stop."

"Just because you've watched him for months, read an article and been on two dates doesn't mean you know him at all." Lucifer shot back.

"Enough!" Michael commanded. "Luke, if Castiel's vouching for him then that should be enough."

"Why are you encouraging him? Encouraging this?" Lucifer sneered. "You know how this is going to end up. The same way it always does with Castiel."

Castiel's face erupted in heat, and he left his coffee on the counter, striding back out of the room.

"Castiel!" Michael called after him. Castiel heard him whispering reprimands at Lucifer, and footsteps following him. "Castiel, wait!"

"I'm going back to bed."

"Castiel … I saw you. The both of you. In the hallway."

Castiel stopped, and looked back at his eldest brother, who gave him a weak smile.

"I didn't mean to pry, or to invade your privacy. But it's okay, Castiel. I think he's good for you."

Castiel wished he could just take Michael at face value, and believe that he was enthusiastic for Castiel and Dean to have a real relationship, but he knew Michael too well. He just couldn't work out what Michael's agenda was.

"Luke's wrong. Dean's not after your money, or your name. I can tell. I know you worry about those things constantly, but for what it's worth, I think Dean is genuine in his attraction to you."

Castiel still said nothing. There was nothing he wanted to say to Michael. He just wanted his brothers to drop it.

"Maybe it's good that Meg's coming with you tonight. It'll give Luke a break from being so antagonistic."

Castiel continued walking away, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and messaging Dean. It was too early for him to reply, but Castiel couldn't wait. He needed to remind himself of the bond that was forming between himself and Dean, regardless of the night before.

* * *

"Did you miss me, Clarence?" Meg smirked as she strode into Castiel's room. He looked up from his cell phone, where he had been texting Dean. Dean who said he didn't remember much of the night, but he was sorry for the speeches. Castiel had managed not to mention the making out, the tender touches, the plan to go to Paris together. He had stuck to what Dean had mentioned, though his heart ached every time he remembered Dean asking for bread, and then asking to sleep with him in French.

"Hey, Meg."

"Look at you, using your cell like a normal person. Add me on Snapchat."

"I'm texting."

"I see that. Who is it?"

"That artist I know, Dean Winchester? I don't know if I've-"

"Clarence, I know who Dean Winchester is. I know about the massive crush. You mention him every time we talk. So last night was good, huh?"

"There were good elements," Castiel conceded. "How was your weekend?"

"Boring. I don't know why I still get dragged along with my parents to Washington. It would be so much easier if they just made me dictator of the United States. You can be my first lady boy."

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled at Meg.

"Well, to make up for a boring weekend, you get to come to this awards ceremony with me and my brothers."

"Kill me." Meg flopped onto his bed, and buried her head in the covers.

"And be left alone? No."

"I can't wait for Michael to ask me what my political interests are." Meg snarked.

"Gabe and Balth will ask which politicians you screwed," Castiel acknowledged. Meg looked up from the covers.

"Rookie mistake. You screw the admin, and get them to parrot your agendas while they're still besotted. Then if it goes wrong it doesn't fall back on you."

Castiel didn't know enough about politics to argue with her. She rolled over on the bed.

"You're so lucky your father never decided it 'might be fun' to be a senator. Ugh."

"I thought Azazel went into politics for capitalist gain?" Castiel mused. Meg glared at him from the bed.

"Stop sexting that artist guy. We need to get ready for an evening of banal conversation with your dull siblings."

Meg began stripping off, unabashed about nudity in front of Castiel. He had seen her naked a few times growing up, although he still felt like he had to look away, show her some respect. She crossed the room in just her thong, and pulled on her dress slowly, before turning her head.

"Can you zip me up?"

Castiel got up from the bed reluctantly, and helped with the zip at the back of Meg's dress as she held her caramel-coloured curls to the side. She grinned at him, and he strode over to his closet, pulling out a suit to change into. Like Meg, he was unabashed as he changed in front of her. They had grown up together, shared baths together. He knew her body as well as he knew her own, and vice versa. And there was never going to be anything between them, even without men like Dean existing.

"Guys have it so easy, throwing on a tux and you're done. My make up took an hour, and my hair took twice as long." She gazed at herself in the full length mirror, turning her head this way and that to critique her appearance. Castiel returned to his cell phone. "Can you leave that alone for one night? Didn't you ever treat them mean to keep them keen?"

"I don't want to treat Dean meanly."

Meg twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

"This is where you're going wrong."

"I don't think so, Meg. The right person will want the way I treat them, and treat me in a way I appreciate."

"Dork." Meg smirked.

"Indeed. Are you going man eating tonight?"

"Of course. There has to be someone eligible at these things. Now you're taking yourself off the market with that artist guy."

"Enjoy hitting on the staff."

"Always," Meg smirked.

* * *

The night was as dull as Castiel was expecting. Even spending his time with Meg didn't have the same veneer as time with Dean. Meg was as she always was, dry and sardonic and dismissive of his siblings. She occasionally turned to Castiel to make a caustic remark, but otherwise, Castiel spent most of his time thinking of Dean. Of the award that Dean had won, and how different a prestigious art award was to this one, which involved various companies run by Lilith's family. How Dean would look in his tux, his hair slicked to the side. How much Dean took away his anxiety, which had been in full force all night. He found it difficult to even speak with Meg how he normally did, which she either didn't notice or didn't care enough about.

It was strange how much Dean calmed him, how open he felt around such a good-looking, even-tempered man. How time flew in his presence, how even though his siblings were irritating it did feel less annoying with Dean there as a buffer. As much as Dean didn't believe that he did that. They had only had two dates, and yet Castiel missed him so much already.

He arrived home late, after Michael but before the rest of his brothers, managing to avoid a conversation with his eldest brother and going straight to bed. He crawled under the covers and checked his cell. There were no new messages from Dean, but that was okay. Castiel sent some instead.

-Hello, Dean. I missed you tonight.

-Meg is good company, but it wasn't the same as you being here. I hope you had a good evening. See you soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel arrived at the Winchesters for the next evening with Dean, a heavy weight in his stomach. He didn't know how Dean was going to be, he hadn't heard from him in over twenty-four hours, and Lucifer had been on his case all day about Dean's intentions and Castiel's naivety. He was exhausted from trying to avoid his siblings, but he couldn't avoid the evening's plans. Amara's birthday dinner. The silver lining of which was that he could talk with Dean all evening and eat good food, maybe even dance together. Although Castiel would feel nervous dancing in front of others, the idea of being in Dean's arms and how good they felt around him was enough to quell that. If Dean were willing to dance with him, that was.

He resolved not to have any alcohol this time around, ensuring the car was without champagne. He didn't want Dean to have his drinks tampered with again. If there were anything between the two of them, he wanted it to be organic, and he wanted Dean to remember it.

Sam opened the door after Castiel knocked, and frowned at him.

"Hello. Is Dean feeling better?" Castiel greeted him. Sam stood aside and gestured for him to come in.

"I haven't seen him all day."

"He's been in his studio," Charlie appeared through a doorway, sizing Castiel up. "Got lost in a piece. I'll go get him."

She walked out of the hallway, and through to the studio, and Sam pointed to the sitting room.

"Take a seat. You want a drink?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thank you." Castiel still felt shy around Sam. It was like he still didn't have approval from Dean's brother, and it mattered more than Castiel would admit to have it. Sam didn't stick around, but walked into the kitchen, leaving Castiel to explore the sitting room on his own.

It was a simple room, with an old plaid sofa and a couple of squishy armchairs, none of which matched. A battered coffee table, and a reasonably large television opposite the sofa. The door opened, and Castiel wheeled around to see Dean covered in sweat and grease, his vest stained with unidentifiable marks, his expression apologetic. Even covered in dirt, Dean was beautiful.

"Hey. Sorry, I kind of got carried away on my latest sculpture. Give me fifteen minutes to clean up?"

Castiel nodded, trying not to picture what Dean would look like in a shower. He looked at his watch so Dean couldn't read that image in his eyes, and when he looked up again, Dean had gone. Castiel heard the footsteps as Dean ran upstairs, and into one of the rooms above his head, and then he started looking around the room again.

Either side of the television were two tall bookshelves. One was full of books, the other had DVDs, board games, sketchbooks and photographs clustered on its shelves. There was an adorable one of Charlie as a baby, with Sam cradling her, his eyes wide, and Dean holding him, looking sullen. A six-year-old moody Dean was adorable.

There was a collection of pictures from a graduation as well. Sam was in the middle, wearing a navy cap and gown, cuddling Charlie tightly, leaning on Dean's shoulder, all three of them sharing the same happy, proud expression on their faces. It made Castiel's heart ache, at how happy the Winchesters could be together. He couldn't remember the last time any of his brothers looked at each other like that.

There were more hurried footsteps on the stairs, and Castiel turned around just as Dean burst through the door, panting breathlessly with his arms held out. His hair was still glistening with damp, but he looked as good as ever. He looked so beautiful that Castiel was almost frozen in to place. He wished it were the kisses that Dean remembered about their last 'date' and not those embarrassing speeches.

"Ready to go?"

Castiel tried to rouse himself, to stop thinking of the way they kissed the last time, that delicious tension when they were both speaking French. His mouth had gone dry, and he couldn't do much more than nod, and follow Dean out of the house. He noted that they weren't holding hands this time, and he missed it so much. Maybe Dean did remember what happened between them, and he was embarrassed. Maybe he was trying not to lead Castiel on, as futile as that was. They climbed into the car and Castiel made himself speak, to break the awkward atmosphere.

"I don't have anything to drink. After what happened at the auction, I thought it might be a smart move."

He didn't want to have to go through that again, knowing Dean's drink was tampered with, that their relationship was farcical. And he didn't think Dean would want to go through it again either, the shame of what he might have done, the anxious feeling of wondering what he did do. But Dean's face turned an interesting colour, like he wasn't happy about Castiel not providing any alcohol.

"Yeah, good call," he said, although his entire body language contradicted that sentiment. "What're we doing this time?"

"It's a dinner. Meg refused to do it."

"Yeah?" Dean sounded a little bit more curious, though he was still off colour. Castiel persevered.

"She finds my family painful enough at the best of times. I think she reached her limit last night, already."

Castiel knew he was in part to blame for that, by hardly being able to hold a conversation. Dean nodded, though he had never met Meg and didn't know what she could be like. There was still a distance between them, and it made Castiel ache. He had been missing Dean so much, and even if he couldn't really have the man, he still wanted to enjoy their time together. He reached across and took Dean's hand in his own, feeling that almost static crackle between them even as his nerves calmed. He wanted that sensation all the time.

"Once we're done with this dinner, and the dancing afterwards, can we go somewhere and unwind?"

Dean met his eye, hesitation clearly etched in that wonderful deep green of his irises. But then it faded, and the Dean that Castiel had been getting to know seemed to appear again.

"Sure. Got some place in mind?"

Castiel hadn't prepared anything. He wanted to show Dean his yacht, but he didn't want to be in a bad mood when they went there. He wanted to show Dean his art collection, but didn't want to be interrupted. There was the possibility of the family summer house on the lake at the edge of their grounds. It was unlikely they'd be interrupted there. He tried to buy some time to consider their options.

"Depends on who drives me crazy, I guess."

"It's just one night. One more obligation down, right?" Dean's voice was soft, and Castiel appreciated hearing the change in tone so much. Maybe he was overthinking everything, as per usual.

"That's a fair point. Okay."

He sucked in a deep breath, and tried to turn off the constant narrative in his head.

"Are you still nervous?" Dean was still speaking in that soft tone of voice. Castiel turned on the seat to look at him. How did Dean do that? How did Dean just know these things about him? He had never said he got anxiety, not to Dean, and yet he was most intuitive about Castiel's predicament. And though he loved that side of Dean, it was hard to cope with when he wasn't sure what Dean even thought of him. He wanted to believe Kevin's reassurances but it was difficult when Kevin was an employee. He wished things were simpler, that he didn't have to compete with his own shortcomings and his family's notoriety and he could just interact with people and know exactly where they stood with each other. He made the effort to give Dean the honest answer he deserved.

"I suppose I should be nervous after the spectacle we made of ourselves last time we were around my family. But actually I found that very entertaining. It's the usual dread."

Entertaining was the wrong word for what had happened between them. Dean seemed to accept the answer at face value.

"Ah. Well, we could have some fun tonight? Sober fun. Loudly explain to me which fork to use when."

Castiel forced a smile. That wasn't the sober fun that Castiel wanted. He wanted their bond, the one he thought they had been forming, the one he'd been hoping for since he first made himself approach Dean.

"Dude, what's up? Did I embarrass you?"

"No."

As if Dean could embarrass him.

"Is it because I had to rush and we're late? Because I totally got carried away, I've been working on my latest project for about twenty hours straight."

That meant that Dean hadn't even slept, and explained why he hadn't responded to his text messages.

"If we had more time, I would like to see that. And maybe my sculpture."

"Maybe when we get back?" Dean leaned closer, and the tension seemed to ease between them. "So you're not mad at me for kissing you?"

Castiel's heart skipped a beat, and he looked down at those wonderful lips. Did Dean remember? Castiel hadn't mentioned it, the only other person who knew was … Michael. He looked up into Dean's eyes, his favourite eyes, and tried to read the truth in them. Had Michael blabbed to Dean about kissing in the hallway? Did they have a deal about it? It was so hard to understand what was happening between them when there was the continuing possibility that Michael was interfering. He reached up to the control panel above them and pressed the button to raise the partition, blocking Kevin from the conversation. As much as he liked Kevin, he did not want his driver to see him fall apart, if that was about to happen. Kevin had already seen enough of Castiel's panic attacks. And then he tried to give Dean an answer, one that was honest, but couldn't be fed back to Michael if he was controlling this relationship.

"I think that when we get back to your place I would love to see your work. If you're not too tired. And no, I'm not mad at you. I hired you, I should have exercised more caution with what we were doing."

Dean's face fell, and Castiel felt horrible. Maybe … maybe Michael wasn't involved. Maybe Dean was genuine. Castiel was doing it again, overthinking and pushing away someone who might really care. Luke was right, if he wasn't careful, it would go the exact same way as every other relationship he had attempted to have. The car pulled up and Kevin opened the door before Castiel could undo his words, before he could understand what exactly was happening between them. Dean climbed out without any more words spoken, and turned to offer his hand again. Castiel took it, feeling nauseated and light-headed.

They filed into the room, and took their seats at a table already full of Novaks. Gabriel and Balthazar were loud and raucous, their dates seemed vacuous. Michael and Amara were talking quietly between themselves and Lucifer was leaning back in his chair, talking with Azazel and Lilith. For better or for worse, Dean and Castiel were on their own. Castiel filled their wine glasses with water as the appetizers were brought around, and Dean leaned closer to him.

"Dude, what is this?" he pointed to his plate. He sounded like himself, like Castiel's mistake in the car was ancient history. Castiel hoped that it very much was, as he pulled the menu card closer towards himself and read it to Dean.

"A fresh, seared scallop with asparagus gel and a pancetta crumb."

"I thought the only people who talked like that were pretentious chefs on cooking shows?"

Dean was adorable. As if he had no clue that Michael would indulge in the very best for his wife on her birthday. He was right, however, it was pretentious.

"I believe we're being catered by a three-times Michelin chef. So expect more of the same."

"I'm going to be hungry after this, aren't I? I skipped breakfast and lunch."

Castiel remembered enough to know that hunger had an affect on Dean's mood. He hoped that he could maybe make amends if Dean's stomach were full. So he grabbed a fork from his place setting and passed his scallop over, removing it from the tines of the fork which he then put back in place. Dean allowed it.

"That was not your fish fork." Dean pointed out. He was correct; it wasn't.

"And how would you know that?" Castiel teased back. Dean went with the joke.

"All plebeians know which fork is for what course. And what a scallop is. We just like messing with the aristocracy."

Castiel beamed, glad that Dean's sense of humour was back. He sipped his water as Dean began to eat, exclaiming loudly over the taste of the food. When the second course came along, Gabriel pushed four plates towards Dean and winked as Balthazar pulled out a bottle of Cognac. At least his exuberant brothers would make this interesting. And they were feeding Dean's good mood. Dean arranged all the plates between them and started picking through, gesturing for Castiel to do the same.

"Oh man, what did I just eat?" Dean snorted, and speared a cube of potato jelly for Castiel, holding it close to his mouth. "Eat this. Is it for real?"

Castiel timidly took the morsel of food off of Dean's fork, with a volcano of emotion erupting inside him as he did. He couldn't even taste the food. He was too busy trying to figure out once again if this was Dean showing how he really felt, or if Dean thought that he was fulfilling his duty by flirting heavily in front of the other Novak brothers. He still couldn't stop himself from indulging in Dean, in continuing to swap food and feed each other, whisper together as the meal progressed. Dean even wiped a small spot of cream from the corner of Castiel's mouth with a napkin at one point. It was so easy to fall into believing that Dean could care about him too. Castiel tried to turn his mind off and just go with the fantasy.

Eventually, the string quartet began to play, as did a pianist, and the other guests began to drift to the dance floor in between the tables and move. It was all antiquated dances, ballroom steps from people who wanted to show off the lessons they had in their youth. Dean and Castiel remained sitting at the table. Castiel refilled their wine glasses with water as Dean turned to watch those on the dance floor.

"So, this wasn't so bad." Dean mused.

"It never seems bad when you're here," Castiel admitted, before he could filter himself. Amara appeared before them, looking down at Dean with interest sparkling in her eyes. Castiel waited for her to sell him out.

"Castiel, we've barely had the pleasure of talking to your new friend. Dean, would you accompany me on the dance floor?"

Dean gave Castiel a quick glance before he stood up and held out his hand to Amara. Castiel felt a punch in the gut, watching as they began swaying together. Maybe that was Dean's signature move. Or maybe he was performing as he thought was expected of him. Castiel continued to watch him, as someone took Dean's vacated seat.

"I have to say, you and he have finessed performance art. One might actually think you were in a relationship with the man."

Luke. Of all people.

"Or maybe we were enjoying our dinner together. And his name is Dean."

"His name is irrelevant. He is irrelevant."

Castiel bit his teeth together so he didn't yell back. He stood, and began to walk away, but Luke followed him.

"Why are you dragging yourself through the gutter? You're far too old to have your rebellious phase."

"If he's irrelevant, what do you care?" Castiel spat back, wheeling around to face his older brother. "If he's irrelevant, surely it will be over sooner rather than later and you can act superior once again, that you were right and I'm not. Or does he get under your skin for some other reason?"

"Castiel, since you met that artist, your attitude has been abhorrent-"

"Why? Because I'm finally learning to stand up for myself?"

"Is that what you call it?" Luke sneered.

"I don't care what you think, Luke."

"That much is evident."

"You know what, Luke? Maybe you should stop focusing on my boyfriend and start giving your wife more attention before she sleeps with yet another waiter."

He turned once again and strode towards the front doors, needing fresh air and a place to break down that wasn't full of the same faces who would remind him of it constantly. At the entrance doors, he felt someone join him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaning close to his ear.

"Hey, is everything all right?"

Dean had seen everything, and he had come after Castiel. It quelled all those doubtful thoughts, that one action. Dean cared, and Castiel needed someone who cared about him right then. He led them away from the nearby partygoers who were smoking cigars and talking loudly over each other, and turned to face the man he was crazy about. And then he couldn't do it, couldn't admit what Luke had said, what Castiel had shot back.

"It's fine, Dean."

"Doesn't seem like it. You wanna talk?" Dean was still calm. There was concern all over his voice. His hand remained on Castiel's shoulder.

"No."

"You need a drink?"

"I want to go."

He would take Michael's wrath. It was less sufferable than continuing the evening near Luke. And Dean, sweet, considerate, compassionate Dean took it all in his stride.

"We can do that."

They walked together to the valet area, and climbed in the limousine quickly when it arrived. Castiel pulled his tie off and collapsed onto the soft floor, concentrating on the way the slight shag carpeting brushed his face and moulded to his form. He felt Dean's hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles, and he closed his eyes tightly. It was almost painful, having Dean's attention right then, even as he craved it so much. Even when it was the first time he had no doubts about the man touching him then, trying to soothe him.

"What did Luke say?" Dean's tone was still gentle. Castiel still didn't want to answer him, didn't want to have to say the words that would hurt Dean too. They hurt Castiel enough as it was.

"Doesn't matter. Kevin? Please just drive around for a while. And raise the partition."

Kevin did as he was told, and sealed Dean and Castiel together in the back of the limousine. Castiel refocused on the fibres under his face.

"Looks like it matters." Dean pointed out. Castiel rolled over on the floor and opened his eyes to look at Dean. Dean who absolutely didn't have to hear that Luke thought of him as irrelevant.

"It's nothing you have to worry about."

"More pressure from your brothers?" Dean persisted. Castiel nodded. Dean wasn't to know that this time, the pressure was about leaving him, ending this. He lowered himself awkwardly onto the floor of the car as well, laying beside Castiel though there really was hardly any space between the seat and the mini bar for two grown men. But Castiel didn't want to move, and Dean apparently wasn't going to give up. "Well, how about we do something? Instead of moping in the limo while we drive around, let's go do something you can actually enjoy without someone breathing down your neck and telling you how you should be doing it?"

It was what Castiel had requested earlier in the evening. Dean was so good at remembering things like that. He edged closer to Dean, as Dean turned his face, and Castiel let go of all his doubts, all his inhibitions. He wanted Dean's mouth on his again, wanted to feel wanted for who he was. He pressed their lips together gently, and reached a hand to the nape of Dean's neck, feeling the short bristles of his hair caress his skin like velvet. Dean kissed back immediately, his lips just as talented as the first time, and they both began shifting, trying to find a comfortable way to lay without breaking this tenuous connection. Before he realised what he had done, Castiel had clambered onto Dean, their bodies flush against each other. Dean's arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling him against that firm chest, restricting the air in his lungs. It was beautiful, and wonderful, and more than Castiel remembered from the auction. Dean shifted his legs, and Castiel fell between them, his cock growing hard as it brushed Dean so intimately, though he was in no rush to have sex. Not in the back of the limo with Kevin driving.

But Dean's hands were all over his body, exploring him, and he let himself graze Dean's pectorals through his shirt with nervous fingertips, felt the ridges of his stomach, the warmth of his skin. This was too much to be faked, it had to be real. It had to be real and Castiel could feel the tension leaving him. Dean was his. He never wanted to let go again. But he knew he must, and it wasn't fair on Kevin, just because Dean was an insanely good kisser, to force him to have to deal with it. He made himself stop kissing Dean, and accidentally straddled him as he sighed.

"We should get you home. And you promised to show me the sculpture."

Dean looked dazed, and Castiel manoeuvred himself around to rap his knuckles on the dividing screen, knowing Kevin would understand the gesture without having to wind the partition down. He watched as Dean slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, still on the floor. He couldn't see Dean's expression, but after that kiss, he didn't need to. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out and touching Dean, running a hand through his soft brown hair, trying to recreate that side parting. It sprang back into place, and Castiel couldn't stop himself from doing it again and again. Obviously, Dean used some kind of styling wax to keep it in place.

The limousine pulled up outside the Winchester's house, and Dean shuffled towards the door so he could be out first. Castiel followed, grabbing Dean's hand before he could leave the car, and they walked together into the studio. Dean led the way, mindful of his equipment, and Castiel looked around in awe at Dean's work once again. They stopped walking in front of the statue that Castiel that first conversation, and he clutched Dean's hand with both of his own.

"You work quickly." He acknowledged, unable to talk about the beauty of the statue. It was incredible, full of intricate swirls and whorls that created features in the void. It almost looked like a photograph of a pretty, kind-faced woman, despite being wrought from old iron. Once again, it seemed to breathe. How did Dean put life into metal like that?

"No, I," Dean answered in a low voice. "I guess I tend to throw myself into things. I just get locked in, you know? Charlie and Sam usually try and keep me on a routine but every now and again I just get totally sucked in and forget myself. What day it is, how long I've been going, you know?"

It was the first time Dean had volunteered up information about himself, Castiel realised. He talked about Sam and Charlie, and Castiel, but not about himself. It was thrilling, to have that kind of trust from Dean, and Castiel tried not to make a big deal about it.

"And that happened last night with another project?"

"Uh, yeah."

They stood in silence for a few moments, just looking at the statue.

"It's gorgeous, Dean. You could charge me a hell of a lot more than you are."

"You think? Cas, you're already spending so much on me."

"You're worth it." Castiel promised. Though it really didn't seem like much. As Gabriel had crudely put it, what Castiel was spending on Dean - net worth - was covered in a couple of days of interest. It barely made a dent. He was just aware that the amount he saw was an amount Dean couldn't even comprehend. He turned to look at Dean, who was already staring at him, his eyes wide and unguarded. Castiel could feel the electricity crackling between them. Something big was going to happen, he could feel it.

"I get like it with people too," Dean admitted in that same low voice. "I get sucked in and forget everything else. Even if I don't get anything back. That's why Charlie and Sam are like they are, they don't want me doing the same thing over you."

The way Dean said it, he made it sound as though his siblings were fighting a lost cause. That he had tried to fight his own impulses and given up. He knew he owed something to Dean, a confession of his own, and he tried to ground himself by concentrating on their hands joined together, and refused to break eye contact as he responded.

"Every time I see you, it's like I'm reminded how gorgeous you are. Dean in my head doesn't match up. And I'm always worried I'll say the wrong thing, that you don't like me like that. I thought you were just being nice to Michael, making the effort with him when he told you I admired your work."

Dean stared at him for a moment that felt like it lasted forever. His eyes darted back and forth like he was trying to read the lie in Castiel's words, and Castiel couldn't help himself. Dean wasn't in cahoots with Michael, they were both resisting each other for absolutely no reason. He threw himself at Dean, at the same time that the artist moved closer, and they were kissing once more, sinking slowly to the floor, fitting between artwork and equipment and losing themselves in each other. Castiel's heart was thudding so hard in his chest he could feel it throughout his body, he could feel Dean's heartbeat keeping time too. The kisses were as sweet as they had been in the limousine, with just the right balance of caution and urgency, the right amount of tongue, little nips that sent thrills throughout Castiel's body.

And then Dean slowly stopped, and his grip on Castiel slackened, his breathing slowed. Castiel opened his eyes to Dean sprawled on the floor, asleep. His exhaustion had clearly gotten the better of him, and he looked so adorable asleep. Castiel watched him for a moment, and then rested his head against his chest, listening to Dean's heart.

"You're my ideal guy," he whispered, hoping his didn't wake Dean up. "Everything about you, Dean, it all makes me like you more. I hope this is just the start for us."

He waited for a moment, and then raised his head, peering again at Dean's face.

"Sweet dreams, Dean."

He kissed Dean's chin, and slowly got up, mindful of everything around them that he could knock over or hurt himself on, or that might fall on Dean. He gave his statue one last look, and then tiptoed out of the studio, back to the car.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel was glued to his cell phone. Dean kept up a barrage of texts, all of them adorable, and Castiel could feel the excitement thrumming through his body that he normally felt around Dean. He couldn't believe there were two more days until the next function, two more long days until he saw the most beautiful man on the planet again.

-It's far too long until I see you again.

- _Right? I'd say lets hook up in the mean time but Charlie's got her eye on me._

-What do you mean by hook up?

- _Cas, please say you know what a hook up is._

-I'm aware some people use it as a euphemism for making out, others for intercourse, but that context doesn't quite work … does it?

- _I really want to hear you say intercourse._

-Why? Because I didn't say fuck?

- _I want to hear you say fuck too. I like your voice, and when you say stuff like that, well, it's kinda hard to stay calm._

-I did wonder why you choked that time.

-Dean? Are you still there?

- _Yeah, sorry. Charlie came into the studio. So far as she and Sam are aware, I don't have my cell in here with me and I'm getting ready for my next showcase, and totally not concentrating on you._

Castiel loved it when Dean said things like that. Knowing that Dean thought of him as much as he thought of the artist was heady. It was going to be hard not to throw himself at Dean when they next saw each other. But until then, he still had to handle the minefield that was his family. First of all, there was Michael, who summoned him into his office once again.

"You left early last night." Michael pointed out as soon as Castiel had taken his seat. He didn't answer. "Amara said she had been dancing with Dean, he left to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"What upset you? Every time I looked over, you and Dean were fully absorbed in each other. Was it that he danced with my wife? Because you know Amara was just trying to welcome him into the family."

"No, it wasn't Amara. It was her birthday, it was just dancing."

"Then what's going on, Castiel?"

Castiel sighed. He really didn't want to be having this conversation. He could feel his cell phone in his pocket, vibrating with yet another text from Dean.

"Dean had been awake for almost two days straight. He needed to go home and sleep. I'm sorry it cut our time at Amara's celebration short, but I do want to take care of him."

"I can understand that, Castiel, but it doesn't make sense. Dean was fine, he was dancing with Amara, you're the one who walked out, he was the one taking care of you." Michael sat forward, looking at him with a concern that didn't come naturally. "Castiel, are you still having issues?"

The tone was one of surprise. Had his brothers really been that oblivious to his anxiety in recent years?

"Why do you think I didn't want to come to any of these events?"

Michael gave him a pitying look.

"I'm sorry Castiel. Well, actually I'm not. Maybe I should be, but then you perhaps wouldn't have had the time with Dean. So I think it was worthwhile." Michael swelled with his own importance. "So was it apprehension of dancing that made you leave? You were under no obligation to dance."

The door swung open and Luke breezed in, ignoring Castiel completely.

"Michael, why do I have an email stating that my deal with officials in Cambodia is no longer going through?"

"Because you associating with those in Cambodia compromises people who have been great business partners of ours for years. Now if you don't mind, Castiel and I were having a discussion."

Luke looked over, and pretended to be surprised when he saw his youngest brother.

"Hello, Castiel. How are you helping Michael to be a complete dictator in the family today?"

"Was that really necessary?" Michael asked. Castiel rolled his eyes.

"It's fine, Michael. I'm sure I'm just irrelevant."

Michael looked between the two of them, trying to work out what was going on. Castiel stood and headed for the door, as his elder brothers once more began arguing. He checked his cell phone out in the hallway, and felt slightly better. Dean didn't disappoint.

- _Is it bad that I keep thinking of last night? Damn, Cas, you kiss good. Real good._

-I'm quite fond of the way you kiss as well.

- _We gotta make out next time we see each other, then. I don't remember you going?_

-You fell asleep. It was adorable. I left, thought it was less creepy than watching you sleep.

- _Adorable? Nope. Not adorable._

-So adorable.

- _I'm a man. I don't do adorable._

-You do adorable man.

- _Stop calling me that._

-Stop being it.

Castiel knew he was grinning goofily at his cell. He hoped that Dean was doing the same thing in his studio. He wandered through the hallways until he came to the servants quarters. Kevin was in there, hanging out with a couple of the other staff members, but he shot out of his seat when he saw Castiel, coming away immediately and following Castiel into the grounds. They walked through the gardens, hoping for some privacy.

"Hey, everything okay?" Kevin asked. Castiel nodded.

"Yes, I've been in contact with Dean all morning. I hope we didn't embarrass ourselves last night."

"No. It was fine. I told you he liked you."

Castiel couldn't help but grin at him.

"You did. I was wondering if I could trust you with something? I want to take Dean somewhere after our next date, but no one else knows about it, so do I have your complete discretion?"

"Of course you do, Cas." Kevin promised. "Oh, sorry. I'm used to Dean saying that. Castiel."

"You can call me Cas," he said softly. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"I'm your employee, really." Kevin pointed out. "But yeah, you're my favourite Novak by miles."

Castiel was disappointed that Kevin wouldn't consider them friends, but he understood where he was coming from. Maybe it was a little unusual to be friends with your older employee.

"So, where is it that we're taking Dean?"

* * *

Castiel lost no time in dragging Dean out of the house two days later. As soon as the door was closed behind them he was grabbing at Dean, covering him in kisses, trying to melt into the man. Dean kissed back with a chuckle, reaching under Castiel's jacket and covering him in a searing heat. Castiel was in heaven, pressed against the man he adored. The time together passed too quickly, and then they were at the catwalk show, side by side and trying not to kiss each other senseless in the audience. Castiel was bold enough to put his hand on Dean's knee however, and Dean kept his arm across Castiel's shoulders, leaning in to him, making him more impatient. It felt like an age before the show was over, and they could leave. As soon as it were possible, Castiel pounced on Dean again, in the limo, safe in the knowledge that Kevin was driving them to the marina. Once they were there, Kevin would go home, and Dean and Castiel would spend the night together on his yacht. Castiel was just hoping to lay in the same bed together, maybe watch an old movie and snuggle up together, but he was prepared in case Dean wanted to get physical.

And it felt like Dean wanted to get physical. Not just from the intense kissing, Castiel had accidentally brushed his groin and felt him straining against the fabric of his pants. And Castiel wanted it too, could feel his own body demanding to take control. He made himself resist until they were on the yacht.

The car stopped, and Castiel made himself pull away from Dean, though he didn't want to.

"We'll continue this in a moment. There's something I want to show you first."

Dean didn't reply. He had that same dazed look on his face that he had the first time they had kissed. He followed Castiel out of the car, and Castiel took his hand once again.

"Uh, are you sure you wanted to be here?" Dean asked. Castiel looked at him as the wind stirred the bristles of his hair.

"Quite sure," Castiel nodded, and led the way to where his yacht was moored. He pulled the gangplank out, and let Dean go first up onto the deck, before securing the walkway inside. He did not want to be disturbed. Dean was silent as they stood together on the top deck, the sea breeze rustling their hair, their jackets flapping in the wind. Castiel didn't know what he was thinking, what he made of Castiel by owning this boat. It wasn't even the biggest one in the marina, Castiel thought it was modest. He led the way to the main cabin door, and felt the need to speak. The near-silent swish of the waves and the distant clanging of the maritime bell wasn't enough to make the quiet between them comfortable.

"My crew aren't here to pilot it, so we won't be going anywhere, but I would like to give you a tour."

In truth, Castiel hadn't gotten around to hiring a crew. He didn't know enough about sailing himself - he'd been too scared to try when he saw Lucifer capsize in a dingy one time - and he had nowhere he really wanted to go. Besides, having the boat in the marina meant that he had a safe haven nearby.

Dean had raised his eyebrows at the mention of a crew, but he followed Castiel through the boat anyway, taking in the gleaming, unused control panels and the pristine mess hall as they headed to Castiel's favourite spot.

The room he slept in when he needed alone time. The master bedroom.

Dean's eyes swept around the room, drinking in the details, and Castiel felt an old apprehension take him over. He had never done this, never invited someone to a place where all indicators were set for them to have intercourse. His old boyfriend, Fergus, had been a lot more upfront about things like that. He was also upfront about his extreme dislike of Meg and that meant he had to go.

Castiel tried to get rid of thoughts about Fergus, and set about making the room look more inviting, less intimidating. He turned on the lights beside the bed, turning off the main overhead lights and bathing them in a warm glow. He gave Dean a small smile, and tried to sit on the bed in a casual-yet-sexy manner.

"I've never actually invited anyone in here before."

"I'm honored." Dean choked out. Maybe Dean was as nervous as he was at the prospect of them having intercourse. He tried to keep talking, to make them both calm down.

"I actually hate that tonight is going to be our last night attending functions together. I've really enjoyed my time with you. I would have enjoyed it more without my brothers, of course, but without them I wouldn't have had a reason to ask you to come with me in the first place."

Dean looked at him tenderly, the low lighting softening his features further.

"It's just our last night playing nice with your brothers at these things," he sounded soothing, reassuring. "I thought we were going to see each other properly? We could still fit in some of these events. Without paying me this time. Just you and me."

It was music to Castiel's ears, to know that Dean wanted to continue seeing him. That he would even suffer more of the same just to be with him. He was feeling more confident about what was going to come. Dean saying 'Just you and me' was the sweetest thing he had ever heard.

"We could start now?" Castiel reached out and tapped the mattress beside him, trying to encourage Dean to come closer. "Right now what I want to do is be with you."

Dean stepped closer, but didn't sit down. Instead, he slid his hands either side of Castiel's face, cupping it gently, sending a tingling sensation all over his body. He loved the way Dean's hands felt against his skin, rough and hard but tender too. He followed Dean's touch as his head was lifted slightly, and then Dean's mouth was on his, his lips warm and soft, with just the right amount of moisture. Castiel couldn't help but reach out and touch Dean's chest, his stomach, enjoying the taut skin and firm muscles through his thin shirt. He reached up and pushed Dean's jacket off his shoulders, and Dean reciprocated faster than Castiel could have expected, sliding his hands down and shucking off Castiel's jacket, flowing down his body and untucking his shirt. Castiel stopped kissing to pull off Dean's tie, and then they were practically wrestling to undress each other, stealing kisses as they pulled at zips and tugged buttons roughly and touched skin as it was exposed. Castiel broke off quickly to dive into a hidden compartment, where he'd stored the condoms. Dean chuckled when he saw what was in Castiel's hands.

"You had this planned?"

"No, I um … I hoped … I mean,"

Dean chuckled again, and settled back on the bed, naked and glorious.

"I was hoping too."

Castiel fell on the bed too, kissing him once more, gasping as their bodies came together, skin on skin. He wanted to memorise everything; tingling skin and passionate kisses, firm caresses and a graceful flow between their two bodies. Dean broke off the kiss, angling Castiel's neck with one hand, and he started kissing there, nipping the skin with tiny bites, sucking slightly as he did. Castiel scrambled to put a condom on, hoping it wasn't too presumptuous that he would get to be inside Dean. He didn't even know if Dean liked anal. But Dean had been surprising him so far, and he didn't want to be told no. He adjusted on the bed, sitting underneath Dean's legs, parting them firmly. He sat up, and Dean looked at him tenderly. He didn't even need to ask, The look on Dean's face screamed that it was going to be okay. So he eased himself into Dean. Dean who sat up, and started thrusting with him, riding him, their lovemaking keeping pace with the motion of the boat on the waves. Dean was hot and slick with sweat against him, their kisses were now clumsy but full of passion. Castiel was working hard to keep pace, gripping on to Dean's back with both hands as he did.

He released into Dean, and flopped back against the bed, feeling Dean's caress as he removed the condom and threw it away. A few moments later, Dean laid beside him, and he turned to look into those green eyes, though they appeared darker in the soft lighting. Castiel didn't know what to say to him, feeling shy all of a sudden. He felt like he had jumped the man, and there was a sudden regret for the last few endless minutes. Dean merely gave a husky laugh.

"Cas, if you're going to sleep, maybe we should get in the bed."

"Was that okay?" he whispered. Dean cuddled up close.

"Okay was not the word."

"So you approve of the intercourse?"

Dean's smile widened, and he kissed Castiel again.

"I approve of you saying intercourse too. Say it again."

"Intercourse," Castiel's voice was rough from growing anxiety. He felt like he had made a mis-step, like they maybe shouldn't have had sex yet. Maybe now Dean wouldn't want to know.

"Oh yeah, that's almost as good as sex with you." Dean mumbled into his skin.

"Nowhere near as good as sex with you," Castiel whispered back.

"Seriously, Cas, you could just list ways of talking about sex and it would be better than dirty talk."

"Like I want to fuck you again?"

Dean groaned, and nipped the skin by his collarbone with his teeth.

"That sounded better than I imagined."

Castiel finally understood.

"Are you making my voice pornographic?"

"Your voice _is_ pornographic."

Castiel felt bashful, but pleased that their conversation was flowing at least as well as their texts. He curled into Dean's arms.

"Okay, let's go to bed."

"We are."

"Cas, get under the covers. We'll spoon under the blankets, okay?"

"Okay. Do you need some nightwear?" He mumbled as Dean tugged him around to lie the right way.

"No. I plan to be very naked and against you, all night." Dean promised, and laid beside him, their bodies touching. "Don't get dressed either."

"I won't. Your body is a work of art, Dean."

Dean pressed a kiss against his temple, and he fell asleep.

* * *

He woke before Dean did, with the early morning light filtering through the water outside the small porthole in the room. Dean had indeed spooned him in the night, and he turned gently in his arms, looking at the face he loved so much. Dean's lips were slightly parted, his eyelids translucent in his sleep. Castiel watched as he slowly woke up, stretching and eyes flickering before he focused on Castiel. He gave a slow, lazy smile, and Castiel couldn't help but reach out, and run a finger along his jawline slowly. Stubble scratched at his finger, but he didn't care. He could lay in bed and look at Dean all day. He wanted to, but he knew Dean had his next art show to prepare for, knew they would have to move some time.

Dean was grazing his fingers along Castiel's torso, neither of them breaking the silence between them, It felt like the world would implode if they did, and the fragile moment between them would shatter. So instead they traced each other's bodies, enjoying the touch of skin on skin, until Dean finally rolled over and climbed out of bed. Castiel did the same, and they got dressed in silence, before Castiel led the way back off the boat, and over to the limousine. In the car, they sat side-by-side, Castiel leaning against Dean's shoulder and Dean resting his chin on Castiel's head, their fingers entangled, still silent as they made their way back to Dean's house.

He wanted to talk, to say all the things he felt about Dean, but he was so scared that he would be coming on too strong, even after sleeping together. He wanted Dean to say something first, to know it was the right step forward, but Dean seemed happy to just toy with his fingers, to cuddle on the back seat, to have all these wordless sentiments said by other means.

At the door, Castiel couldn't resist a goodbye kiss, one that lingered, one that was sweet and full of more of those unspoken words. Dean walked inside with the same dazed look on his face that he had the first time they kissed, and Castiel took a moment to watch him before returning to the car. He sidled up close to the partition once inside, and rested his head on the edge as Kevin started the car.

"Have a good night?" Kevin wanted to know.

"The best."

Kevin laughed.

"Told you he liked you."

Castiel smiled dreamily, and Kevin's laughter slowly filtered out as they made their way back to the Novak mansion.

As soon as Castiel stepped through the door, he was besieged by his brothers. Gabriel and Balthazar were near the entrance hall, awake and in their normal high spirits.

"Look who's just come in wearing last night's clothes!" Gabriel crowed.

"Dearest Cassie did the walk of shame? Where've you been all night, little brother?" Balthazar wanted to know.

"Isn't it obvious?" Gabriel raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Did Dean put out then?"

"What does his dick taste like?"

"Who came first?"

For once, it didn't bother Castiel. He merely smiled at them and headed towards his room.

"Uh-uh Cassie, you don't get laid for the first time in years and not give us details."

"Did you take it in turns?"

"Is he a bottom?"

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Castiel called over his shoulder at them.

"No, but a Novak fucks and boasts, so come on!"

"Balthazar, you boast even when you don't have sex," Castiel didn't break stride.

"Prove it."

Castiel made it to his quarters, and shut the door in his brothers faces, then made his way into his bedroom and flopped on the bed, closing his eyes and picturing the night before.


	10. Chapter 10

**So, crazy story. One time, this woman comes into the department store I work in. Rumours start flying that she's a diplomat, or a princess. No one is sure, but she's putting loads of stock on hold. Thousands of pounds worth of stuff, all over the store. She goes out to the rest of the mall with reassurances from her entourage that she'll be back to buy it all. About half hour after she's gone, the store has been talking to other stalls in the mall, like Hugo Boss and French Connection. She's done the same thing all over the mall.**

 **We actually think it was some average girl doing it out of boredom, but it was irritating to hold so much stock on limited space and then have to put it back when it was clear she wasn't returning. She was definitely the inspiration for this chapter.**

* * *

Castiel had accidentally fallen asleep, replaying the moments with Dean from the night before. He woke up picturing Dean's face as he came towards the bed, the look in his eye just before he bent down to kiss Castiel. It took him a moment to realise that he wasn't alone in his room. Meg was on the bed next to him, picking through her hair.

"He awakens!" She smirked when she saw him blink.

"What time is it?"

"About two. You've been out for hours."

Castiel sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry, I had a … well, a pretty awesome night last night."

"Mmm, I heard. You fucked that artist."

"How did you hear?" Castiel frowned. He didn't like the way that Meg reduced it down to merely fucking, but that was the way Meg was. She was never a hearts-and-flowers kind of girl.

"Balthazar was blabbing as I came in. I think he was trying to get to me." She was dismissive, and Castiel's frown deepened.

"Why would it get to you?"

"Right? Your brothers are such assholes." She stretched, and nudged his shoulder. "Come on, I'm bored, I want to do something with someone who has taste."

He sat up, and ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his head to rouse himself.

"Sure, give me a minute, I want to text Dean."

He searched his pockets, but his phone wasn't there. Instead, it was lying on the bed between himself and Meg. He reasoned that it must have rolled out of his pocket in his sleep as he unlocked it and started tapping.

-I fell asleep as soon as I got home. Just woke up. Guess you wore me out. Thanks for an amazing night, Dean.

He pocketed his phone, and got off the bed.

"Okay, Masters, what are we doing?"

Meg laughed, and climbed off the bed as well.

"It's a surprise."

* * *

The day was not what Castiel had been hoping for. Especially when Meg said it was meant to be fun. Her idea of fun was shopping, Meg style. Shopping was dull enough, in Castiel's opinion, but Meg's version included going into stores, making sure everyone knew exactly who she was, getting huge piles of couture put on hold for them both and then walking away from the store, never to return.

For the majority of the time, Castiel ignored it, and kept returning to the night before, to the way Dean felt in his arms, the things they had said to each other. He kept checking his phone, but there were no new messages. He wasn't too worried, because he knew Dean was busy making sculptures, knew that he got absorbed in his work and didn't always keep track of the world when he did so. But he missed him already, and couldn't help sending off more messages.

-My accountant should have sent you the money by now, Dean.

-When do I get to see you again? Don't tell me I have to wait as long as your art show.

-I am going to kiss you so hard we're both going to forget to breathe. That's a promise.

-Last night was incredible. Can't get it off my mind. I never do that, but it felt right with you. Or am I coming on too strong here?

-Don't work too hard. Don't forget to eat, or sleep. Can't wait to see what else you make for this next show.

"Castiel, come along," Meg gestured, and he followed her out of yet another store. "Your cell is going to run out of battery soon. What's lover boy been saying?"

"Nothing. He's probably in his studio, getting stuck in to a new sculpture. He's very creative."

"So you're sending him a bunch of messages and he's not replying? Desperate much, Castiel?"

"Dean won't mind."

"Oh, I'm sure. It must be a huge ego boost, being chased by a billionaire."

Castiel felt a weight in his stomach, as he followed Meg along to the next store.

"It's not like that."

"Of course it's not. He's an artist on a limited budget, but of course there's no motivation like you investing in him to keep him interested. Panic attacks are sexy."

Castiel felt strained from the direction that this conversation was going in.

"He's not motivated by my money. And he's been really understanding about my anxieties. I didn't even have to tell him, he just knew."

"Wow. I'd love to be on his pedestal."

"Meg, stop."

"Seriously, Castiel. What was in it for him?"

"Well, why are you friends with me?"

They had stopped in the middle of the street, staring at each other. Castiel felt uncomfortable around Meg for the first time ever. She had never liked his partners, but she had never made him feel six inches tall about any of them. With Fergus she was adamant he was worth more, with April she told him over and over he was being used and he needed to open his eyes, but asking what he could give a potential partner? That was a new low.

"I am friends with you because we fit together, Castiel. Because I understand you and you understand me. Because we both need to survive the crappy families we were born into, and we help each other with that. I just don't like seeing you bringing down all your defences and throwing yourself at a guy who barely has two cents to rub together."

"So you think he's after my money?"

"If not your money, then your position. I mean, does he know about your influence in the world he's trying to exist in? Having you on side means he has his pick of art shows, his choice of clients. But what does he give you? It can't be worth getting head."

"Like I said, he understands my problems without me having to say anything. That's not easy to find, Meg."

She shrugged, and sighed. "Its your life, I guess. I'm just trying to protect you."

"I know. Thank you."

She looked at the next store, and smirked. "Come on, Clarence. I want to see what Yves Saint Laurent can hold for me."


	11. Chapter 11

It had been four days of total silence from Dean. Four days without so much as a text message, and Castiel was beginning to feel his anxieties creeping in.

He knew Dean was busy, knew how he got about his projects. He knew as well, that Sam and Charlie were important to their big brother and he would drop most things in a heartbeat for them, no matter how much he might complain. But to not hear anything after they had slept together, been intimate with each other, it was wrong, wasn't it?

He had taken to avoiding the rest of his brothers as much as possible, afraid that they would want to discuss Dean and he would have to admit to their silence and then he would hear all their assessments that matched Meg's words. Luckily this was easy, as Michael had gone on another business trip to Monaco, and Gabriel and Balthazar were club-hopping once again which meant that they were comatose much of the day. The only person there really was to avoid was Lucifer, and even that was fairly easy, as Lucifer was gone for much of the time in meetings of his own that Castiel was sure Michael knew nothing about. There was only one instance where they had run into each other, and Luke seemed distant at best, though they did talk briefly.

"I'm surprised you're not with the artist," he sniffed.

"No, I've found other ways to be irrelevant today."

"Very humorous, Castiel. And how long are you going to be repeating that at me?"

"I don't know. Maybe when it starts to become relevant?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"And I thought you were going to cave and marry Meg. It would be more ideal if you had. You're in a similar position, she understands what being a Novak entails, and how you operate."

"I have a boyfriend." Castiel reminded him. Reminded himself.

"Yes. Sure. But this isn't about dating or confused sexualities or unimportant artists, Castiel. This is about your influence in the world. And Meg would be the best person to help you with that. She's smart and resourceful, she prefers acting behind the scenes. Let her take the role of Castiel Novak."

Castiel merely walked away.

* * *

Castiel kept debating whether to go and visit Dean, to surprise him with a meal of cheeseburgers and beer and spend the evening at his place, pretending that there was no money creating a gulf between them. But he didn't want to go and find Dean too busy to appreciate the effort, or worse, find out that the artist had moved on. After all, Castiel had never known what had become of Benny. What if he were still sniffing around?

Meg found him in one of the local art museum, where the older and less contemporary works lived. She sat beside him on a bench and gazed up at the painting he had been staring at, a Romantic piece of half naked people laying around eating indulgently.

"I thought you'd be here with your boyfriend."

"He's busy."

"Uh-huh. And how long has he been busy for?"

"He has a show coming up."

"And conveniently stopped talking to you after you slept together, because he's busy."

Castiel hated Meg speaking the words he'd thought in his blackest moods. He had considered them invasive thoughts, ones that he'd been trained to think himself out of.

"It's not like that."

"Castiel … I saw your emails. You can pretend all you want, but I know what happened. Why did you pay him?"

Castiel could feel his breath hitching, his limbs shaking. Meg wasn't supposed to know about that. No one was supposed to know about that apart from Castiel, Dean, and Castiel's accountant.

"I suppose the real question," Meg continued. "Is why he was willing to settle for just four million. I'd be seeing you every chance I got just to keep stiffing you. Did you pay him extra to sleep with you?"

Castiel sat forward, trying to regulate his breathing, to stop trembling, to get rid of the spinning sensation in his head. It sounded so much worse out loud. Meg leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"Castiel, it's time to stop fooling yourself. This thing with Dean was only ever going to last as long as the money did."

They weren't invasive thoughts, were they? The contract was over, and Dean had no obligation to text him back. And clearly, he had no desire to. Castiel felt destroyed. He had really thought … you couldn't fake those things, could you? The way Dean spoke in French to him, the way he kissed. How he always checked how Castiel was doing, the constant contact between them. Had he really done it all with dollar signs in his eyes? It didn't seem like Dean, did it? But then, Dean had been grumpy with him until he had offered the money. He had only agreed to the dates … once Castiel admitted who he was.

How had he been so stupid? Was he so blinded by desire that he couldn't see that Dean might be like everyone else? Had he only seen what he wanted to see because he had the chance to be with a man he had fantasised about? At least Dean had done well enough to perpetuate the fantasy.

Meg stayed quiet beside him, waiting as he absorbed all his thoughts. It was as he put his head in his hands, feeling like a fool, that she leaned closer and whispered to him.

"Clarence, I hate seeing you like this. Maybe … it's stupid. Never mind."

"What?" He said into his fingers.

"Well … maybe you should cut your losses. I don't want to keep seeing you fall for the wrong person and end up destroyed by it. Maybe if you and I got married, it would protect you from all this heartache."

Castiel held his breath for a moment.

"It wouldn't be a romantic thing, Clarence. We're best friends. Like we're going to use each other. It's about protecting each other, you know?"

"Are you really prepared to marry a man who's hung up on someone else?"

Meg snorted.

"Clarence, half the men I sleep with are married. If that was my problem then I'd never get any. Think about it."

"No," Castiel took a deep breath in, and released it slowly. He couldn't believe he was going to say it, but it was clear that he would never really have Dean. And Meg was right, he couldn't keep doing this to himself over the wrong people. "You're right. As usual. And everyone used to say we were going to end up together. Why not?"

"Are you sure?" Meg squeezed his arm.

"Not really. I still want him. But he would have texted me by now if he wanted to know, wouldn't he?" Castiel looked up at the intricate coving on the ceiling. "I guess a lot of people used to marry for position rather than romance. It makes sense, doesn't it, a Novak and a Masters?"

He didn't believe a word of it, but what was he meant to do? They had slept together, and Dean hadn't said a word since. Surely if Castiel meant anything to him, he would have replied to at least one message? Or maybe Sam and Charlie had decided they were getting on too well, too quickly, and had taken his phone away to calm Dean down, stop him throwing himself at Castiel. But then, Dean could have sought him out some other way. No, Dean's silence was as obvious as it was painful.

"And Luke was saying that maybe we should marry each other. That maybe you'd enjoy taking control of Novak duties when I don't want to."

"I guess it would count as a society marriage. It's surprising that Luke thought of that, I thought he only thought about being a douchebag." She wrapped a hand around his bicep. "I'll help all you want. You won't regret it, Castiel."

He nodded, and looked at her, forcing a smile.

"Thanks, Meg. You're always there for me."

* * *

They began planning their wedding almost straight away. Meg had some very definite tastes, and Castiel wasn't hugely bothered by the process. He was still checking his messages, still hoping that Dean would send him something - anything - to explain the silence, to reassure him that there was something real about what had happened between them. But he wasn't wholly disrespectful to Meg, he listened to her talking about the flowers and catering, he offered his opinions where she was split between options, and he requested that it not be some huge affair. He knew his request would disappoint her, but she also knew enough of his issues to not argue too much on the point.

They were debating what cake they would need as Castiel's brother's walked past them.

"Cake? For what?" Gabriel asked. Castiel suddenly became incredibly interested in the page in front of them with fondant-covered cupcakes.

"Our wedding?" Meg replied indifferently.

"Whose wedding?" Michael asked sharply. Castiel continued scrutinising the cupcakes, waiting for the fall out.

"Mine and Castiel's. We're engaged."

Michael laughed nervously.

"You're kidding, right? Castiel's dating Dean."

"And he's never wanted to bang you," Balthazar chimed in. "Come on, Gabe, I can't listen to this crap."

Castiel waited until he heard the door open and close, knowing that Michael would still be there. Michael, Dean's biggest cheerleader. He still had mixed feelings about Michael involving himself in his love life.

"Meg, may I speak with my brother alone?" Michael was as polite as he always seemed.

"No."

"Meg," Michael's temper was fraying, Castiel could tell in the clipped tone he was using. "I understand that the two of you are making plans but I wish to speak with Castiel on his own."

"Fine. Clarence, do you want me here while Michael talks at you?"

Castiel bobbed his head in a weak nod, still focused on the cupcake picture.

"Well, there you go. My fiancé wants me here. So you can either say what you want to say or you can run along."

"This is our house, Meg."

"And he's my Clarence."

Castiel turned a page in the magazine he had been going through, to see a huge naked wedding cake. Michael made an exasperated noise, and walked away, preferring to say nothing, it seemed, than to talk in front of Meg. Castiel decided to spend every waking moment near his fiancee, if it meant that Michael would leave him alone.

"Wonder what he wanted." Meg muttered.

"To control my life. As ever." Castiel murmured back.

"His loss. When we're married, I control your life." Meg smirked. Castiel looked at her blankly. "Geez, I was kidding, Clarence."

"Sure you were."

"Kinda."

She nudged him, curling into his side, and he sighed. He knew Meg was teasing but would still have some level of control. That didn't bother him much, she knew his limits. What did bother him, what was always going to bother him, was that he just didn't love Meg in a romantic way, and he never would. And it still weighed on him just how smitten he was by Dean when he and Meg were pressing forward with their marriage. It wasn't fair on Meg, and if it made it up to her by making some of Castiel's decisions for him, at least it was a start.


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm on a writer's retreat with shoddy internet. Hope this posts!**

* * *

"Can you stop squirming?" Meg complained, and forced a jacket onto Castiel.

"Do we have to go?"

"Yes, Lady Toni Bevell will be showcasing her pottery and we're going to have to pretend we like it because she's donated a huge amount to daddy's campaign."

"Dean's one of the artists in the showcase as well." Castiel grumbled.

"So? We'll look amazing, and completely in love, and he can stick one of his metal rods up his ass."

Castiel wished that he had Meg's confidence, but he just didn't. It was the first time he would be coming face-to-face with the artist since they had slept together, the first time since Dean had begun to ignore his texts, and he was feeling that familiar, sickening, panicked sensation in his stomach at the idea of going. Dean used to bring him comfort, used to calm him down, and now he had no idea what to do. To be in the same room as Dean and be ignored, or shrugged off was going to be awful. If it weren't for Meg's insistence that they go for Lady Antonia, then Castiel would definitely be avoiding the gallery completely.

"Meg," Castiel sighed.

"Clarence, you don't have to talk to him." She smoothed out his lapels, and then held out a necklace for him to put around her neck. He took it and carefully fixed it around her neck, mindful of any hairs that might be caught. "Stick with me, okay? And we'll tell everyone about our beautiful engagement and you'll forget he's even there."

"Yes, marrying out of convenience and expectation will really make us the envy of everyone else there." Castiel couldn't help but bite back. Meg laughed.

"That's why we don't tell them that. We'll have some fun with it."

Castiel let Meg's curls back down, and then crossed the room, rifling in his drawers.

"I just thought. It's our first time going out as an engaged couple, and," he found what he was looking for, shut the drawer and walked back, before going on one knee, holding it up. "I didn't even give you a ring."

Meg held out her hand, and Castiel slid it onto her finger before standing up again, as Meg admired the ring.

"And you just happened to have a diamond ring hanging around?" Meg asked sceptically. "What's the carat on this thing?"

"It was Mother's. Before she and Father disappeared. I kept it for sentimental reasons, but it feels like I should give it to my future spouse."

Meg merely nodded. They never talked about the situation with Castiel's parents, and clearly Meg wasn't prepared to begin now.

"It's two carats. Set in twenty-one carat gold. Mother liked tasteful and understated."

Meg smirked, and gestured for the door.

"Let's go … fiancé."

They walked through the Novak's mansion, and out of the front door where Kevin was standing beside his limousine. He eyed Meg nervously, before opening the door for them both. Castiel had noticed in the last few days that Kevin had become distant and closed off around him, wary around Meg, and it made him sad to think that the friendship that had been blossoming between the two of them was waning. Meg never seemed to notice, she would step into the car as though Kevin wasn't even there, and the most Castiel could manage was a sheepish smile before following her in. Kevin shut the door with more force than normal, and drove them in silence, sliding the partition up to give them privacy.

It gave Castiel so many misgivings. Kevin had been so understanding of the relationship he had thought had been growing with Dean, and Kevin's actions screamed that he wasn't okay with this new development, but Castiel could hardly complain to anyone. Kevin wasn't doing his job badly, he was doing everything he was supposed to right to the letter. The camaraderie was gone though, and Castiel doubted it would come back.

Inside the gallery, Castiel could see it was already full of people, paintings, urns, and metal sculptures. He spotted Sam almost straight away, talking with Edith as they looked at one of Dean's pieces. Meg's eyes scanned the crowds, and she tugged on Castiel's arm, clearly spotting someone she knew. Lady Antonia Bevell was talking with one of the people on the board of Edith's gallery that Castiel recognised but didn't know the name of. She broke off as she spotted Meg, with her usual flair for the dramatic. She pressed a hand to her heart, and gestured at the pair of them.

"Megan Masters, you _are_ a dark horse!" She had an over-pronounced English accent, which was an odd combination with her vernacular. Likewise, her seemingly ethically inspired pottery was at odds with the pants suit she was wearing. Castiel had her pegged in moments as a bored housewife of another politician who had gotten into pottery as something 'fun' to do with no real mastery of the craft. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had bought her slot in this showcase. "Who is this?"

Lady Bevell's eyes scanned over Castiel's face, and he looked to Meg, trying to anchor himself to the arm she had wrapped around his elbow. Already, he could feel his anxiety peaking.

"This is my fiancé, Castiel Novak."

"I don't know what's bigger news, the fact that you're engaged or that Castiel Novak exists in the flesh! When did you get together?"

"Recently," Meg nodded, and held out her other hand to show off the ring.

"You simply must tell me everything! How did he propose?"

Castiel could feel himself beginning to shake. Meg squeezed his arm, and continued addressing Antonia, going into some elaborate story that Castiel only just heard over the rushing sound that was growing in his ears. Something about a boat and candlelight. And then things began to calm, but that worried Castiel even more, because only one person's presence did that to him, and he didn't want to look up and spot Dean, only to be blanked by him. He focused even harder on Meg as she began laughing with Antonia. Antonia who had obviously spotted Dean, regardless of the fire beginning in Castiel's veins. He felt ashamed for reacting when Dean clearly didn't want to know.

"Ah, this is Dean, another artiste! Dean, this is the enigmatic Castiel Novak and his beautiful bride-to-be, Meg Masters."

She said Castiel's name as everyone else did, as though she couldn't believe he was quite real. And it irked Castiel that she used artiste in that way, it was pretentious, and incorrect. A few short weeks ago, he would have joked with Dean about it, but now …

"You're too kind! Isn't she too kind, darling?" Meg grinned up at Castiel. He looked back at her, and she must have read the panic in his eyes before she looked away. "And hello, Dan. Nice to meet you. Are you part of the show?"

Castiel knew she was just trying to protect him, to defend him from heartbreak, but it still hurt. She knew it was Dean, she knew how Castiel felt, she knew this was Dean's show too. Antonia interrupted, clearly wanting the attention back on herself.

"Tell me how he proposed again!"

Meg held out her hand, over-gesturing for Dean's benefit, as Castiel's stomach churned. It felt suddenly like everything was going too far. Dean hadn't said a word, but Castiel could tell he was still standing there. Was he waiting for something? Would Castiel be able to control himself if Dean said anything to him? Surely Dean would understand their engagement - and anyway, if Dean were really concerned about Castiel's love life then he would have at least tried to respond to Castiel's messages.

"So when's the wedding?" Dean's rumbling baritone cut through the air. His tone was devoid of emotion, but not robotic. It was most similar to when they had their first conversation, when Dean knew nothing about him and was erring on the side of caution. It still sent shivers through Castiel's entire body, and Meg squeezed his arm again, as though she could sense his mood. She answered Dean, clearly not impressed with him.

"In a few months, I think. We're just enjoying being engaged at the moment, aren't we Clarence?"

"Yes," Castiel forced out. He wouldn't exactly say he was enjoying it, and he wondered if either Antonia or Dean would question Meg's pet name for him which he still didn't quite understand.

"Meg, that ring is exquisite. Where did Castiel source it from?" Antonia gushed. Meg turned to her friend, and Castiel felt a hand around his other elbow, firm and forceful, leading him away from the women. He had no choice but to follow the pressure, to see what Dean wanted with him. Despite the contact, Castiel could feel the panic rising, and felt sick at the idea of looking at Dean, at seeing the man he was crazy about and picturing him the way he had looked the last time they had seen each other as Dean yelled at him or ordered him to leave.

"You're engaged?" Dean asked when they were in a corner away from most of the crowds. Castiel focused on Dean's shoulder, trying to understand what was going on. Dean sounded reasonable, which made his silence even more frustrating.

"It's complicated, Dean." Castiel told his shoulder. And it truly did feel complicated to him, even without the light-headed sensation and the buzzing in his ears and his shaking limbs …

"You could have warned me." Dean's tone turned petulant, which confused Castiel even more. Dean hadn't responded to a single word, how was Castiel meant to tell him? Send a save-the-date card to the Winchesters? Beyond Dean's shoulder, Castiel saw Charlie approaching slowly, eyeing them apprehensively. Castiel still had no idea what to make of Dean's little sister, what she would do with the news that Castiel was engaged to someone else. He did not need two Winchesters to increase his anxiety. It was already coming out in the worst possible way, raising Castiel's defences.

"Would you really have appreciated a text message to communicate the fact I'm now engaged?"

He heard the petulant tone, hated that it was aimed at Dean, but he was at a loss as to why the conversation was taking this direction. It almost felt like Dean thought he was owed something, but Castiel had paid him every cent.

"I would have liked something. You could have told me on the boat."

Castiel looked to his feet, feeling heat flame his cheeks. So Dean wasn't completely oblivious to their time on his yacht. What was going on? Charlie was behind Dean now, able to catch every word.

"I didn't know then."

"You didn't … how could you not know?"

When did Dean suppose he had gotten engaged? It had been two weeks since they had seen each other, that was plenty of time. How did Dean not see that he was the catalyst?

"It's _complicated_. And I don't owe you a thing."

It was true enough. Dean had everything, he was the one doing the silent treatment. He didn't get to play the victim the way he was trying to.

"Dean?" Charlie interjected quietly. "Let's go. There's a dealer who wants to talk to you."

"I think you do," Dean was laser-focused on destroying Castiel, it seemed. "I put myself out there for you."

How had Dean done that, exactly? By sticking to the terms they had agreed upon?

"And you were paid well for it." Castiel tried to be firm as he reminded Dean that actually, that didn't count. He almost looked up into Dean's face, stopped himself just in time, and instead met Charlie's eyes. They were as wide as saucers, like she couldn't believe the words out of Castiel's mouth herself. She tugged on Dean's arm, but it did no good, and Castiel refocused onto Dean's shoulder.

"You didn't buy my affection, Cas." Dean sneered. It hurt, to hear that, to know that Dean hadn't held any affection for him. Castiel was a bundle of emotions, and he wanted nothing more than to head back to Meg, to talk it out with Kevin, to go home and collapse under the weight of his feelings for the Dean he had thought he was getting to know. He forced himself to stay strong, to see this one interaction out until there was a chance to walk away.

"No, I bought your time and your company."

"He paid you?" Charlie asked her brother. That at least confirmed how little Dean had told his siblings about this whole thing. It was like Dean was a complete stranger to him at this point.

"We had a deal," Castiel informed her. That, at least, spurred Dean into talking once again.

"Yeah Cas, we had a deal. But you knew it wasn't about the money for me!"

"But you still accepted my money," Castiel pointed out, trying not to go anywhere near the notion that Dean was only in it for the name Novak. "And now you need to accept that I'm going to marry Meg."

It sounded strange, out loud. Real, though Castiel hadn't been fooling around. Was he really going to commit his life to his best friend? Dean seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"You know what, Cas? I hope you're happy with her. I really hope you are. I hope you enjoy all those boring networking events together. And I hope that you remember that however much you spent on me, you still couldn't buy a friend. Four million dollars, and you're in the same place you always were."

Dean turned away, finally ending the conversation. But Charlie remained, frowning at Castiel, not giving him the chance to walk away himself.

"You paid my brother." She said flatly.

"It's between him and me."

"No. No, you might play divide and conquer, but my brothers and I are a unit. You crush my brother and I _will_ crush you."

"What's going on here?" Meg interrupted, slipping her arm around Castiel's once again.

"None of your business. Who the hell are you?" Charlie shot back.

"Meg, Castiel's fiancee. Which makes it my business when you yell at my future husband." Meg rubbed his arm. "Are you okay?"

Meg never asked that, but Castiel was grateful for it. He shook his head, unwilling to talk further in front of Charlie.

"Oh, he's just dandy, I'm sure." Charlie snapped, as Sam materialised at her side, looking between the three of them with a passive expression. Charlie turned to him. "Sam, guess what? Castiel was paying Dean for all those dates. It was all fake."

Castiel felt his head swimming badly, and he clutched at Meg. He was desperate to get away now.

"Okay, Charlie, we'll deal with that later. Right now, its Dean's show. Where is he?"

"I don't know, he walked away from this loser a minute ago."

"Okay. Let's go find him. Come on." Sam eased Charlie away, and Meg tugged Castiel outside into the fresh air. He collapsed on a nearby wall bordering a flower bed, and Meg sat beside him quietly, swinging her feet.

"That was dramatic," she noted.

"That's why I wanted to stay away." Castiel said in between taking huge gulps of air. Meg pulled something out of a shrub just behind him.

"Hey, someone got rid of a tux jacket. Think there's someone getting lucky in the bushes?"

Castiel looked at it. It had a familiar cut.

"That's Dean's," he said quietly, as it clicked. He had been staring at it during their confrontation. And then he remembered where else he had seen it.

It was the Prada jacket. Dean had been wearing Prada. Either he had bought it himself, or far more likely, Michael had given it to him. It told Castiel all he needed to know.

"Get rid of it. And let's go home."


	13. Chapter 13

The wedding planning was in full swing, and time was slipping away from Castiel. There were endless meetings with prospective bakers and florists who all received a similar treatment to those boutiques Meg liked to pretend to shop at. It felt like no time at all had gone by since that disastrous art show before suddenly there was the annual Novak garden party. Castiel normally hid behind one of his paintings to avoid his brothers when this day came around, but this time Meg was insistent that they join in. She kept reminding him that they were big news, the daughter of Azazel Masters and one of the eligible Novak brothers being betrothed. She wouldn't let him hide in his personal gallery. She was almost more insufferable than Michael was normally.

"Will you please stop calling this our duty?" Castiel complained as she pulled a tie around his neck and began a double windsor knot.

"But it is. It's a society wedding, remember?"

"I thought you hated this stuff as much as I do." He muttered under his breath. She laughed.

"Of course I do, Clarence. You don't get handled like a piece of meat. But Daddy and his friends are here, he wants to make good with the Senate, so if you could get over yourself for one day it would really help. You don't have to like anyone, you don't have to enjoy the conversation. Just fake it 'til you make it."

She pulled him out of the room and through the mansion, then out to the grounds. There was already a large crowd, a small band playing music, and the air was clogged with conversations and the smell of delicious food. People were dancing, or standing in groups, and some were even walking on the lawns past the main courtyard. Meg held fast to Castiel's elbow as they walked down the stone steps and into the melee, making sure he couldn't escape. Lady Antonia accosted them on the steps, and Castiel did his best to look friendly and approachable, even as Antonia gushed about the band or the food or some guest that was attending to Meg. Meg who was cool and indifferent in her reply. As soon as Antonia moved on, Castiel's smile fell off his face. Was this really his future? Making nice to people who he didn't particularly like, devoid of passion?

Meg tugged him onto the makeshift dance floor, and he relaxed slightly as they began to dance. Dancing could be embarrassing, but it was less stressful than holding conversations with people he didn't know. He could pretend it was just himself and Meg. Or at least, he could until he felt a familiar calming sensation, and he turned his head without overthinking it.

And there was Dean, standing beside them, watching them dance.

"Can I cut in?" He asked. Meg didn't even try to refuse him, or start dancing with him. She merely huffed in exasperation and walked away as Dean grabbed Castiel's hand and waist, and began swaying gently. Castiel almost tripped in shock, and he refocused on Dean's shoulder as he let Dean lead. It had been a month since Dean had yelled at him, a month since he'd confirmed for Castiel that they were over. He didn't want to play games, and he didn't want to be pulled about by Dean anymore. Either Dean was interested and would respond to his texts, or he wasn't and should walk away completely.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Dean's shoulder.

"It turns out that while you were trying to buy my friendship, I actually made some real ones in your brothers."

So, Dean was still as abrasive as last time. Castiel wanted to pull away, leave the conversation right then, but he almost couldn't help himself. Dean still smelled incredible, still calmed that anxious fluttering in his stomach. Castiel was greedy for the man he had fallen in love with, not this coarse stranger. He couldn't picture it either, Dean had hated Balthazar, seemed reticent about Gabriel, called Lucifer a dick and had been sucking up to Michael for months.

"That seems highly unlikely." Was all he would remark.

"And it's highly unlikely that you're suddenly in love with Meg."

What did Dean know? It wasn't his business any more. He'd made that clear with his silence, and it upset Castiel so much to hear Dean be derisive about the engagement when he hadn't wanted to carry on seeing Castiel. It brought out his perverse side.

"Love is only a recent concept, Dean. And it's definitely not one sponsored by the wealthier party."

Dean was smart enough to realise exactly what Castiel was hinting at, as crudely as he had done it.

"If you think the way I felt about you is anything to do with your stinking money then you never bothered to get to know anything about me."

He knew Dean. His artwork breathed emotion. Maybe he didn't know all the facts about Dean's life, but he knew him as a person. And maybe Dean needed reminding that he wasn't a complete saint, that he cared more about money than it seemed he was willing to admit.

"The first time we spoke, Dean, you tried to pass off your lunch as contemporary art. You pegged me for an idiot before you tried to get to know me, and you were only ever concerned with learning anything about me once you realised that I was a Novak. Just like everyone else."

Even half an hour ago, Castiel couldn't imagine talking to anyone in that way, to saying what he actually thought about the worst of their personality. And it hurt him to say it, like he was completely destroying anything that had been between them. He let go of Dean and walked away, seeking out Meg, feeling his entire body shaking. He kept thinking of other things he should have said, like how Dean was a pawn of Michael's and Castiel had suspected it all along. But also that he missed the artist and he wished Dean had replied to at least one message. That he would call off his engagement in a heartbeat if he just knew that Dean truly cared.

He pulled Meg into his arms wordlessly, and they began to dance again. She didn't ask what had happened with Dean, and he was grateful. He couldn't face going over it out loud. She cuddled into his chest, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to pretend Dean had never showed.

* * *

That night, when all the guests had left and the staff were busy cleaning up, Castiel was accosted by Gabriel and Balthazar, and pulled from Meg's side. He protested heavily, but they were once again too strong for him to fight against. They ended up in Gabriel's quarters, where he was shoved into an armchair beside Gabriel's ridiculously large candy selection. Balthazar started chewing on a strawberry-flavoured cable, and Gabriel offered Castiel a candy bar which he refused as Gabriel settled on his knee.

"What are you two up to?" He sighed.

"Interrogating you away from the missus." Balthazar smirked.

"Please don't."

Gabriel laughed.

"Oh, like you'd be honest with her here. So, okay, why are you suddenly obsessed with Meg?"

Castiel wished that he had accepted the candy bar so that he could pretend not to be able to answer.

"Who said I was obsessed?"

"Okay, you were stupidly in love with Dean. To a sickening degree. And he was into you as well, so why are you suddenly marrying Meg?"

"Do you like boobs now?"

"Did Dean have a tiny dick?"

"Does Meg have a dick?"

Castiel couldn't move out from under Gabriel's weight. The barrage of questions was typical of them in everything but the tone they delivered it in. There was no humour, no laughs punctuating the words.

"Did Dean give head too well?"

"Have you gone off stubble? You used to mention that all the time with Fergus-"

"STOP," Castiel raised his voice. "Just stop. This is my love life, not yours. You might like sleeping around and avoiding commitment but I don't have to be the same. Leave me alone."

"Cas," Gabriel's tone softened. "Little bro, we just want to look out for you."

"Meg's not right for you," Balthazar agreed. "Dean was."

Castiel looked up at the cavernous ceiling rather than respond.

"Cas, he made you so happy, we could all see it. He would do anything for you, too. Why are you walking away from that?"

He could feel a lump forming in his throat. He had convinced himself of that at one point too.

"Can you stop calling me Cas, please?"

"Sorry Cassie, filthy habit we picked up from Dean." Gabriel said happily.

"Do you prefer Castiel?" Balthazar needled him. "And do you prefer Meg?"

"Meg has always been there for me."

"Pay up," Gabriel held his hand out to Balthazar. Balthazar shook his head.

"Nope. You have to get a row or full house in Cassie soundbite bingo. One square isn't enough."

"I definitely prefer Meg to the two of you."

"Free space," Balthazar nodded. "We both get one."

"Can I go now, or are you going to continue to make a mockery out of my life choices?"

Gabriel sobered up, and leaned against his little brother.

"Please think it through, Cassie. Meg's not the girl you think she is, and Dean doesn't deserve this."

"Dean walked away first." Castiel muttered. Unfortunately, it was directly into Gabriel's ear.

"So what, this is revenge?"

"No. This is me making the right decision."

Gabriel sat up again, looking at Castiel, and he was finally able to free himself from his brother. He slid off the seat and walked out of the room, thankful that they didn't try and call him back, didn't stop him from leaving. He supposed that they too had been listening to Michael for once.


	14. Chapter 14

It was a rare afternoon where all Castiel's brothers were out, and Meg had left Castiel's side too. She was having a wedding dress fitting, which meant that Castiel was home alone. He had decided to take advantage of the lack of interruptions to talk to Kevin, and try to get their friendship back on track. He also wanted Kevin's perspective on his upcoming nuptials, as he'd always appreciated Kevin's input so far.

Castiel knew that, if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he was hoping Kevin would put him off of the wedding, encourage him to find another way. He still wasn't even beginning to get over Dean, and he knew that marrying Meg possibly wasn't the best way to handle it, but he needed to hear it from someone he trusted, someone who didn't have an agenda. Someone who was level headed and had nothing to gain from talking with Castiel about this situation.

He was crossing the entrance hall, heading towards the quarters that Kevin had effectively moved into, when the doorbell rang. Rather than waiting for Gloria, the head housekeeper, he answered it himself. And nearly had a panic attack.

It was because he was thinking about him, surely? Because he had been deciding whether or not he was making the right choice. Dean couldn't really be standing on the other side of the front door, his expression clear, his body language relaxed. Castiel almost slammed the door in shock, managing to catch it just in time. If it really was Dean, it maybe wasn't the best idea to slam the door in his face. Castiel peered out of the gap. Dean was watching him without reaction.

"Hello," Castiel broke the silence. Dean didn't even dispense with the basics, but got right down to business.

"I have the statues you and Michael bought. You both put this as the delivery address."

"Oh."

Of course Michael had bought a statue. That was almost irrelevant at this point. He had hoped for maybe a split second that Dean was there to beg him to be with him, to forget Meg. That Dean would promise he had no compulsion for Castiel's money or last name. But no, this was not a social visit, this was a drop off. Apparently, Castiel was supposed to react with more than just a sound because Dean snapped.

"So, you still want them? Or did I just waste my time?"

It hurt to hear Dean talk like that. Castiel forced himself to go through with this interaction, clearing his throat and opening the front door again.

"You can leave them in the entrance hall."

He didn't care what happened with Michael's statue. He didn't want Dean to have to carry a heavy statue all the way up to his quarters, although he would be willing to help. He wanted this out of the way, and then maybe he and Dean could talk, could get rid of this sour feeling between them. Maybe then there would be an alternative to marrying Meg.

Dean exhaled noisily, and headed over to the trailer attached to a beautiful muscle car that was obviously well loved. He put the statue on a set of wheels and used that to move the statue into the Novak's mansion. It was bulkier than the one that Castiel had bought, so he assumed it was Michael's. He stood back to watch Dean push it in with apparent ease, and then began picking off the protective wrapping. Slowly, the cog piece was revealed, the spurs moving slowly this time. Castiel wanted to touch it again, because there didn't seem to be a system for mechanics, so how could it move? Dean turned to him as the last bit of bubble wrap came away, gesturing to the very spot Castiel had almost touched back in Dean's studio.

"This is the weakest part. Let Michael know. One of the cogs makes it difficult to strengthen it properly and if that spoke gets damaged, you've just got a mass of scrap metal scratching up your floor."

"Oh." No wonder Dean had said 'you break it, you bought it' when they first spoke.

"Yeah. I'll just get yours."

Dean left the room, and Castiel tried to pull himself together. Dean seemed more reasonable than he had at the art show, or the barbecue. All he had to do was start talking, find out why Dean was no longer interested in him, maybe talk him around. This was his best shot at knowing. He watched as Dean came back in, and slowly unveiled the statue he had made. Again, Castiel was amazed by how Dean had somehow created details by using the air. He was so talented, so creative. But the moment she was unwrapped, Dean walked out of the open front door, taking the packaging with him. Castiel came out of the house, watching him secure the trailer and head towards the front of the car.

"Dean?" he called out. Dean had opened the door, but at the sound of his name he stopped, and turned slowly. This was Castiel's best shot, and he had no idea how to press forward. He tried to think of something as he approached Dean, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Is there anything you need to tell me about my statue?"

Maybe it wasn't well articulated, but if it got Dean talking, maybe he would be more open to discussing what went wrong between them. Dean frowned at him, but made the effort anyway. In Castiel's mind, it was a start.

"She's sturdy."

Or maybe not. Was that all he had to say? Not that he had sleepless nights making it, or it meant something because Castiel had bought it? Dean expanded after a long silence.

"The base framework under the whorls will make her less delicate. The woman she was inspired by was the same."

It was the first time Dean had spoken about his own influences, to anyone. It made Castiel's heart melt, but evidently it was too much to share because Dean climbed into the car. On impulse, Castiel grabbed the door, keeping it open. Keeping Dean there.

"Is it a statue of Charlie?"

"No. Our Mom. She died giving birth to Charlie."

Castiel felt his chest burning with sadness. He could picture that photograph in the Winchester's front room, of baby Charlie, toddler Sam, and a young Dean who seemed furious. But clearly he hadn't been. He had just lost his mother. Castiel wanted to ask more questions, but he didn't want to pry at the same time. They weren't in 'that place' yet.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

He was sorry. Sorry he didn't realise what the statue must have meant. Sorry he offered the money. Sorry that they had sex, because that was the marker for where all this began to go wrong. Sorry that Dean wasn't texting back, that they couldn't make it work. Sorry that he couldn't make it right.

Dean just turned on the car, rather than acknowledge Castiel's words. But Castiel could understand that. When his parents had first disappeared, leaving his brothers and himself alone, Castiel had suffered a lot of false empathy from people who thought they knew what he was going through. He couldn't give up yet, not while Dean was still there.

"I get married in two weeks."

He was hoping Dean would beg him not to go through with it, would profess his feelings. And then Castiel could as well, and this nonsense could stop.

"Congratulations." Dean was unreadable.

"Tha- thank you." Castiel felt flustered. The worst of his thoughts were being confirmed.

"Uh-huh. I hope Meg makes you happy."

Dean's tone was flat, like he had no conviction in the words. Castiel wondered why he kept saying that whenever the topic of Castiel's wedding came up. If Dean wasn't happy about it, why couldn't he say something? Instead of clearly lying like he was. Castiel wanted more of his vitriol if that was the motivation, or if not he wanted Dean to tell him he would make Castiel happier. And Castiel would agree and then they could be together again. He looked away, wondering how to steer the conversation onto the topic of them, and felt the door move out of his grip. Dean had shut the car door, and put the car into drive, leaving him standing on the gravel watching Dean leave.

He collapsed where he stood after the tail lights disappeared. Maybe he had to face facts. No matter how much he wanted Dean, the guy clearly wasn't interested. All Castiel was doing was driving his own hopes up and putting himself through even more torture. He had been at the show because it was his show. He came to the barbecue because Michael had obviously invited him. And he came today to fulfil his obligations with delivering his creations. For all Castiel knew, he had been hoping to avoid him.

"Castiel?" Kevin broke through his thoughts. He didn't move, but listened to Kevin's footsteps getting closer. "Did you want those statues moved? Or will they be staying where they are?"

Castiel still didn't answer. He didn't know what to do, and he could feel the world collapsing onto him, a pressure he wasn't sure he could bear. He looked up at the sky, hardly focusing on the idyllic blue sky and small, fluffy clouds. Instead, he thought how he had brought this upon himself. He paid Dean, he had never had the relationship he had been pretending to have. And now he was committed to marrying his friend, and he had to move on and accept that the only one to blame was himself. He would keep the statue of Dean's mother somewhere prominent as a reminder that he had done this to himself.

"Castiel?" Kevin was closer, pressing a tissue into his hand. Castiel took it gratefully.

"Leave the cog one. It's Michael's and it's fragile," Castiel's voice didn't sound like his own. "I'll help move my one."

He stood and wiped his eyes with the tissue before he followed Kevin back into the house, where they set about finding a way to carry his statue into his quarters. It was heavier than he had reckoned on, but as Kevin didn't complain, he didn't either. He put it in pride of place in his artwork room, and Kevin disappeared again before Castiel could engage. He sighed, and looked up at the face of his new artwork. Dean's artwork. And an absurd thought came to mind. He was alone, and he had no one else to talk to. She was so lifelike, despite the medium, and she wouldn't fill him with false hope.

"Hello, Mrs Winchester," he began. And then he told those swirls of iron everything.

* * *

 **Just a heads up ... this is nowhere near the end of the angst ...**


	15. Chapter 15

Everything was ready. The marquee was set up and decorated, the caterers were lined up, the cake had been made and delivered. Castiel had barely slept all night, yet it took all his energy to pull himself out of bed when the sunlight shone through his French windows. He watched from his balcony as people arrived and began working on the wedding, arranging chairs, setting out flowers last minute, talking amongst themselves as they brought Meg's vision together.

She had slept in another wing, where she would be getting ready, and Castiel was grateful for the break. He still wasn't sure about marrying her when he couldn't shake the feelings he had for Dean, and in the passing days since Dean had delivered the statues, she had been in an intense Bridezilla mode. His brothers had been less than helpful as well. Balthazar and Gabriel openly mocked him, Luke seemed to take a back seat to everything, and Michael had finally managed to corner him. To beg him to reconsider the wedding, to crawl back to Dean, which just confused him further.

He just wanted a sign that this was wrong, that there could be some way of backing out. But from everything he could see, there was going to be no fateful interruptions. Eventually it got late enough that he felt he had to get ready. He prolonged his shower as long as he could, and took his time dressing himself. Once his shirt and pants were on, and he was shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He noted the haunted look in his eyes, the downturn of his mouth, the way his entire body language screamed that he didn't want this. He stepped forward, and stared into his own eyes, feeling a sensation that his reflection was both asking him for answers and withholding the ones he needed. It stopped looking like him, and he started to feel disconnected from his reflection, from his own body, from everyone else who was outside of the room.

It became too much, and he looked away, concentrating on his shirt cuffs, deliberately straightening them, trying to focus on this one task and not everything else that would come from the day. The more he adjusted them, the calmer he was likely to feel … surely?

"Congratulations," someone spoke directly behind him. He jumped, not having expected anyone in his room, and turned to see who had spoken.

He was imagining things. He had to be imagining things. Dean couldn't be pressed against his bedroom door, dressed for the occasion, looking straight at him. So much for a lack of signs, or the hand of fate.

"Um, thanks." He choked out.

"So, the wedding's in a couple of minutes?" Dean's tone was that flat one again, the one which wouldn't betray his thoughts or feelings. Castiel hadn't given him any information about the wedding, but he supposed with Michael around, he didn't need to.

"Half an hour." Castiel was just as cautious this time. Dean being here didn't mean anything. It was _not_ a sign. Dean didn't do anything after receiving this confirmation, but pressed against the door and just looked at him. It was too hard, after everything, after the way he had been feeling moments before Dean showed up. If Dean wasn't here to end the wedding, Castiel couldn't take it.

"Why are you here, Dean?"

"Look, I know you hate me, I know you don't want me. I know you think I'm some kind of asshole. But I want to clear the air between us."

It took Castiel a moment to process what Dean was saying. Why would he think Castiel hated him? Castiel had been the one chasing him. Of course he wanted him. He gestured to the bed, waiting for Dean to sit down before he did as well. He could feel a real conversation threatening in the air between them, but he was still guarded, still trying to resist hope.

"I don't know where you got the idea that I was just in it for your money, but I just wanted to reassure you that your money wasn't the draw. I haven't touched the money in my account. I'm too scared to; it doesn't seem real. I don't know how you cope with so much cash."

Castiel pressed his lips together. He didn't want to talk money with Dean. And besides, he knew it was less about the money and more about his name.

"And it wasn't that you were a Novak either," Dean continued, as though he could read Castiel's mind. "Not … I only read stuff that Sam and Charlie leave around the house. I only know your name from those. The only thing I got from their magazines about you was that hardly anyone knew about you. And you were letting me in. I got excited by how much trust you were giving me, Cas."

Castiel looked at the floor. Did Dean mean those words? Then why had he been so awful the last few times they had seen each other? He was the one blanking Castiel.

"I don't know how I blew it with you," Dean continued. "I don't know what I did or said to make you think I would be that guy. Last thing I knew was that we were both excited about seeing each other without money being an issue. I had dates planned. So, I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Castiel forgot himself for a moment, and looked up at Dean. He was saying all the right things, it was hard not to hope. But then, if Dean were so excited, if he were making those plans, why hadn't he texted back? What was even going on? He looked away again, and tried to process this whole situation rationally.

"I mean it. Whatever I did to upset you, whatever I said that you took the wrong way, I'm sorry it hurt you. And I hope that's not the reason you proposed to Meg. I know you're close, and … and you deserve better than just settling, Cas. You deserve to be with someone you love. So I hope that you proposed because of her. Not to spite me."

Castiel wanted to pinch himself. He had to be dreaming. Dean was saying the best words.

"I hope you have a good marriage, Cas. That she makes you happy every day. And that whatever else, you don't think of me and hate me."

Until he said that. Why couldn't he be saying these words and then asking Castiel to leave with him? He would go, he would leave Meg at the altar, or send her a text ending the wedding. She would understand.

Dean got off the bed, and headed for the door again, and Castiel realised he was leaving, and knew that he had to speak up, keep him there for longer.

"I don't hate you."

Dean stopped trying to leave straight away, turning back to Castiel. And Castiel hoped that he would wait, that he would remember how difficult Castiel found these things and would go at his pace. That they could still have a chance. Dean had done all the talking, and now it was Castiel's turn.

"I don't hate you either."

"But I'm still getting married." Castiel pointed out. It still felt inevitable. But God, it would be so much easier to be getting ready to marry Dean. And there was no point in calling off the wedding unless he and Dean were a sure thing.

"I figured. You have a lot of history with Meg."

Castiel merely nodded. They fell silent, and Castiel knew it was his time to talk, really talk. He had to treat this as though Dean had been genuine. It felt much more like the man who joked about scallop forks and kept a reassuring hand on his back. He looked up at Dean, bracing himself to say the words, and they finally made eye contact. He could see it so clearly, Dean begging him, saying more words than his mouth had, and he wondered if Dean could see the mix of emotions he had swirling in his chest too. He must have done, because he raced across the room and caught the back of Castiel's neck, and the next thing Castiel knew, they were kissing. He didn't know if he started it, or Dean did, or if they had the same thought at the same time.

What he did know was that Dean's hand was firm at the back of his neck, but not painful. What he did know was that Dean tasted of breath mints, and he smelled of cologne. What he knew was that he had missed the heat of Dean's firm body pressed against his own, and the way their mouths worked together. Maybe this kiss could express the emotions that Castiel couldn't vocalise.

He probed the tip of his tongue against Dean's lips, and Dean didn't hesitate in opening his mouth, his tongue coming to meet Castiel's, and Castiel stepped even closer, rising on tiptoes to try to press right against Dean. He was gripping onto Dean's blazer, imagining what the outcome of this might be. He could picture Dean walking him back to the bed, peeling off the wedding suit, both of them getting naked. Dean entering him this time, both of them locked in this same passionate clinch. And then maybe someone would walk in, but for once Castiel wouldn't care because he would have Dean and no obligation to marry Meg.

Or maybe Dean would slowly pull away, and one of them would throw caution to the wind and suggest ditching out, and they would go back to Castiel's boat and hide from the world.

Or even, if Castiel wanted to reach into really unlikely fantasies, this kiss would end and he would have the words to say how much he missed Dean and how much it hurt not to hear from him. How Meg had offered a solution by marrying her and it was knee-jerk but he had only needed a sign from Dean to call it off. How it felt like Dean had spent so long being angry with him and he had no idea what he had done to incite that anger. But how grateful he was for this kiss, for the feel of Dean's stubble against his - which Gabriel was correct, Castiel loved - and for Dean coming with no other agenda than talking to him.

Their breathing was becoming laboured, but neither of them made a move to separate. Maybe this would be how they were found, desperately clinging to each other and determined not to stop kissing. Because when this kiss stopped, Castiel wasn't sure what could happen. He didn't think there could be a world past Dean's mouth against his, their bodies pressed together so tightly.

Maybe there didn't need to be words, maybe everything was said in the curl of a tongue, the rhythm of their mouths together. Dean had to know, he had to be aware just how much Castiel had put into even asking him out, must have known that Castiel could technically have asked anyone, but only wanted him.

The kiss ended, and Castiel kept his eyes closed. He could still feel the press of Dean's skin, the velvet of his tongue. He was savouring it all, trying to use it to boost his confidence for when he asked Dean to please be his boyfriend again. Dean said something, but Castiel couldn't make it out over his internal dialogue. He took a deep breath in, and then out, and opened his eyes.

Dean wasn't there.

He caught himself for a moment. Had he imagined the whole thing? Wanting Dean so badly that he thought it was real? Everything had been so perfect, exactly how he would have wanted to start making up to Dean. But what if it was real? He couldn't have Dean walk away. What had Dean said before leaving? Had Castiel missed his chance?

"Dean?" He called out tentatively. The door was now ajar, and Castiel stepped through it, peering through his art collection. Dean didn't seem to be hiding in there, but, "Dean?"

Nothing. He wasn't going to give up this easily. Whether it was really Dean or a fantasy, it was a sure sign that he should not be marrying Meg. He made his way carefully through the pieces, calling for Dean every so often. And then he was out of his quarters, heading along the hallways, hoping Dean had gotten lost, or was still waiting for him somewhere. He had to catch up to him, talk to him. He didn't say nearly enough, he'd been too chicken, and he needed to be brave now. He needed Dean to know how he really felt, because Dean seemed to know some of it, and maybe Gabriel and Balthazar had told him what he had said in Gabriel's quarters, but Castiel wanted him to be absolutely clear-

"Castiel!" Someone grabbed his wrist, and pulled him backwards. Azazel, Meg's father. "Are you going somewhere? It's nearly time to say I do!"

Castiel was flustered, and unable to wriggle out of Azazel's grip as he was walked back to his rooms.

"Come on, you can't be late for my little girl. Luke!" He signalled to Castiel's brother, who had appeared in the hall in front of them. "Can you help Castiel finish getting ready? I need to get back to Meg."

Luke took hold of Castiel's wrist himself, and Castiel felt himself collapsing. How could he explain to Luke of all people that he needed to go to the irrelevant man and save his most important relationship? He did the only thing he could do, and sent a text message as surreptitiously as he could.

-If that was real, if you were really here, please come back. I never got to tell you how much I miss you. Please don't let me marry someone else, interrupt the wedding if you have to. If you meant anything you said to me, come back. I'm crazy about you.


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel was in a major meltdown. He had no idea how he had ended up standing at an altar waiting for his bride, Lucifer beside him holding the rings. He'd been on autopilot since he'd been stopped from running after Dean.

It had to be real. Castiel's imagination wasn't that good. And yet here he was, not chasing the man he loved, not doing anything about it after Dean had poured his heart out. There was so much unsaid, so much still to work out, and yet the marquee was full of people, flowers, and expectations.

He knew Meg would understand, she would encourage him to do the right thing, but the crowd in front of him? They made him freeze to the spot. And he was already panicking so much that he didn't need the added pressure. All he could do was hope beyond hope that Dean got the message and acted on it. Dean would be the one to unfreeze him, to thaw out his panic. But with each passing, agonising moment there was no sign of him. Was he waiting for the moment that the assembled guests got to speak?

The piano piece started, and Meg started walking down the aisle next to Azazel. She was in a figure-hugging white dress and a short veil, smiling smugly as she approached Castiel. But he couldn't gasp along with everyone else, couldn't do anything except make himself stand there and not faint. He was getting serious tunnel vision, as though the world were darkening down to just Meg.

"Hey," she mouthed at him as she reached the altar. Castiel couldn't react, could barely move. She reached over and grabbed his hand, that smug look all over her face. But there was no comfort from her touch, not when the ghost of Dean's hand was still on the back of his neck, the memory of his lips still tracing Castiel's. How was he even going to get through this?

The vicar began speaking, and Meg had to encourage him to repeat the words he was supposed to, his voice too quiet to be heard past where Azazel and Luke stood. And still, there was no sign of Dean. Luke passed over the rings, and there were no interruptions. They exchanged vows without a peep from anyone else. Castiel was a robot, a quiet robot, and he was beginning to shake with anxiety. Meg held him firmer, but it did no good. He shouldn't be doing this, he should be with Dean, but he couldn't move, couldn't stop it, it was bigger than he was-

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Castiel had completely forgotten about this part. About the kiss. How could he kiss anyone after kissing Dean that morning? And yet, how could he not kiss Meg now every other moment of the wedding had been completely perfunctory? But he could not, absolutely would not, kiss her in any way close to the way he and Dean did. He stooped awkwardly and pressed his mouth against hers, counting to three in his head before straightening up.

So that was it. He was married. To Meg.

* * *

Castiel had noticed, throughout the festivities, that there were a few people missing that should have been there. Regardless of what was going on with Dean, his brothers should have witnessed his wedding. And yet they hadn't bothered, even in a show of Novak camaraderie that barely existed in real life. Even with everything Michael had said about expectations and Novak duties, the only brother to be at any of the wedding was Luke. It felt like the worst kind of hypocrisy, the biggest kind of betrayal. He knew that Dean had befriended them all, but for them to not witness any part of his wedding? Surely they had the duty to show up, pretend they were happy for Castiel and Meg, regardless of what they actually felt? That was the whole point of being a Novak.

He didn't mention it to Meg, not wanting her to be derisive of his brothers, but it hurt. No, they weren't particularly close, and they had several disagreements, but they at least pretended to the world that they were still a unit. He thought Michael had a huge sense of duty, he thought Balthazar and Gabriel would at least not want to miss a chance to party, and maybe copulate with the bridesmaids. Their absence spoke volumes, and it made Castiel feel like he wasn't enough.

And even more confusingly, Lucifer had been engaging and pleasant throughout the evening, taking the role of best man as though he and Castiel were close siblings. He was warm and approachable to all the guests, laughing and joking and acting like all their other brothers rolled into one, which was disconcerting for Castiel, but he didn't want to say anything even if he were able to.

There finally came the point in the evening where Castiel and Meg could escape. She launched her bouquet into the gaggle of female socialites who had been tearing up the dance floor, and they left for a nearby hotel to spend the night in the honeymoon suite.

The one small perk of being a billionaire with the connections that Meg and Castiel had was that they could breeze into the hotel and be directed to their room straight away, a bell boy taking care of their luggage and the chauffeur - not Kevin this time - having checked them in and sorted out paperwork. Though Castiel normally hated the trappings of their world, he was relieved to have this advantage for once, as it was less to deal with, and the wedding had been more than enough.

Once in the suite, Meg started poring over the flowers and champagne that the hotel had provided for them as Castiel headed into the bathroom. He locked himself in, and stared at himself in the mirror as he had done that morning, focusing on his eyes. He still felt disjointed from his own reflection, was still looking for answers. He was now a married man, married to someone of his alleged status. Someone he didn't love. No wonder he didn't recognise himself. He checked his cell phone, but there were no new messages, nothing from Dean. The number had to be correct, it was still part of the conversation thread that appeared with Dean's older messages. He turned his phone off, and slowly stripped off the wedding outfit, leaving it in a messy pile on the floor and stepping into the shower, turning it as hot as he could bear and standing under the spray. Maybe the heat of the water would wear him away and he could melt into the shower drain and become nothing more. Maybe it would blister his skin and make him feel something, anything other than the numbness that had been sinking in with every moment that Dean didn't come back.

He washed himself automatically, and finally shut off the water, stepping into a fluffy white towel and drying himself slowly, his muscles feeling heavy with the burden he had felt all day in his chest. He regretted every moment that he hadn't told Dean he loved him, hated that he hadn't made more of an effort to chase after him. Maybe that was what Dean needed, for Castiel to chase him all the way home, to explain despite his anxiety exactly how he felt. Castiel had given up with every step that Azazel had made him take away from Dean.

He pulled his boxer briefs and undershirt back on, and left the bathroom, just wanting to sleep for a hundred years, but there was one complication that he had forgotten in his inner turmoil. Meg.

She was splayed across the mammoth bed, wearing a flimsy lace corset and a thong, her stockings held to the bodice with a couple of tiny clips. Her breasts were pushed up, and she was posed to look enticing. She was trying to tempt the wrong audience.

"Hey, husband of mine," she blinked her heavy-lashed eyes. "Like what you see?"

There was no way to get into the bed without pushing her out of the way, or touching her … Castiel didn't want to lead her on, didn't want intimacy with Meg. They were friends, it was wrong. She wasn't Dean.

"It suits you," he let his exhaustion out in the tenor of his voice. It was easier to make her feel beautiful than to upset her, but that didn't mean he was going to engage in the notion of intercourse. What did one do with a vagina? It had been too long since April for Castiel to remember.

"Want to help me out of it?" Meg purred.

"I'm rather tired, Meg. It's been a long day with a lot of people. I would like to sleep."

"We just got married, Clarence. Everyone thinks we're having sex, we might as well."

Seriously, how did vaginas function again? Apart from growing children?

"I'll sleep on the couch. Good night, Meg."

He left the main bedroom, and went into the sitting area of the suite, finding a blanket and bedding down on the sofa, though he didn't fall asleep. His mind was across town, in a studio where a man with a lot of emotion put his feelings into metal and brought it to life.


	17. Chapter 17

Being married to Meg was not what Castiel was expecting. He had been thinking that it would be the same as it used to be between them, but Meg seemed to have flipped a switch and now expected him to be her husband in all senses. It was like she had forgotten how besotted Castiel was with Dean, like she took every word of their vows seriously and ignored their actual agreement.

They had agreed to swap their financial information with the intention of merging their individual fortunes eventually. Castiel had given her his information straight away, but he was still waiting for her to do the same. She made the excuse that she needed confirmation from her accountant, but Castiel wasn't waiting on tenterhooks for it. He knew Meg well enough to know it would happen eventually.

What was more irritating for Castiel was the evenings when he wanted to just sleep, and Meg was making more and more efforts to be provocative, to allure him into bed. Nothing was going to work on Castiel, and he wondered why she would try. She had never mentioned finding Castiel attractive in the slightest, they had never had that relationship, and he was baffled as to why she was acting as though she suddenly did. Their friendship was becoming strained by it, which felt ridiculous so early into their marriage.

He had tried to occupy his time looking for a property of their own, somewhere away from his siblings and her father's politics, somewhere they could have their own rooms, and Castiel could display his artwork. He spent more and more time at the gallery helping Edith, preparing for the next award that was due. This year's crop didn't have anything that leaped out at Castiel the way Dean's had, but it was all passable. And it meant that Castiel spent so long debating each artist and their merits that he was exhausted when he came home.

Meg was trying anything and everything to coerce Castiel into a physical relationship. She had taken to strolling around his quarters in her underwear, writhing in his bed, crawling onto him when he was half asleep. She would try to touch him intimately, then complain when it had no effect on him. It was wearing on him so much already. He missed the ease he had felt with Dean, at least with things like holding hands. But also with the way they were on the boat, the intimacy that made it so simple for them to come together, how natural it felt to do that.

He had given up on waiting for a text back, or for Dean to come back to him. He had decided that what had been said between them at Dean's art show was the nail in the coffin and him appearing just before the wedding was merely what Dean had promised it was, them clearing the air.

But it didn't stop Castiel from fantasising about him, pretending it was Dean beside him in the bed. He had tried to sleep with Meg, closing his eyes and imagining Dean but it was too hard. Meg's breasts were too soft and supple under his hands, her skin was too smooth, she smelled too floral. She complained that Castiel remained too soft, even when she concentrated on his cock. Sometimes, and Castiel felt vile for doing it, but sometimes he would relieve himself in the bathroom before getting into bed. Sleeping with Meg was a step too far, a step he knew he wasn't willing to take. The few attempts they did make fizzled out quickly, and Castiel would turn his back on her to sleep, until Meg seemed to realise how fruitless it was, and finally gave up.

* * *

A month into their marriage, Castiel received a phone call from his accountant. He had been expecting it because he might have found a reasonable property and had asked to investigate it, but he was surprised by the urgency in tone. He went to the office, and was admitted to the room straight away.

"Castiel, I've been looking at your recent transactions, and I'm disturbed." His accountant said the moment he sat down, after the pleasantries were exchanged. "You've always been so prudent with your money, and this recent splurging and transferring cash was already out of character. So I dug a little and," he didn't finish the sentence, but passed a wad of papers across his desk. Castiel peered at it, and then froze. He had spent out for the wedding, and obviously for Dean, but that would have made a small dent in his fortune. The numbers at the bottom of the paperwork his account was giving him was different. Millions had been spent, even more transferred to several ambiguous shell companies he had never heard of. He dropped the cluster of documents, feeling nauseated. He had never seen so few numbers associated with his name. He couldn't see anything else, and the numbers were all blurring together and he couldn't breath and he wasn't sure where all the light in the room was going and-

When he came back to himself, Michael was in the room as well, talking softly with the accountant. The secretary was hovering nearby, and she made Castiel sip a cup of water when she saw he was awake. Michael saw her approach his youngest brother, and looked at Castiel with concern.

"I hope it's okay that Raphael called me. He wasn't sure what to do. Are you okay?"

Castiel nodded, and took the water, settling back into his chair and trying to prepare himself for what was to come. He made himself look at the measly amount of money left in his name, knowing Michael had already seen it. His brother took charge, and for once Castiel was grateful.

"What are the chances of recovering it?" Michael wanted to know. Castiel sipped his water, and Raphael shrugged.

"They're not wonderful. We can look to the police to help look for the person or group taking it, but most of the time you don't get the money back."

Castiel flicked through the papers, looking at all the transactions he hadn't okayed. It had been steady since he had told Meg his details. He didn't feel surprised, but he did feel disappointed, and angry. He trusted Meg, they were married. There was no need to amalgamate their individual fortunes. It didn't make sense for the kind of woman Meg was … or at least, the kind of woman that Castiel had always thought she was.

"It was my wife," he said softly. Michael and Raphael stopped talking, and turned to him.

"Meg?"

"Yes, we were meant to swap financial information. I gave her my details, she was getting hers together."

Michael, to his credit, didn't badmouth Meg, but turned to Raphael.

"How complicated does that make it?"

"How long has the marriage lasted, and how long has Meg known?"

"A month. For both accounts."

Raphael nodded, and asked for more information which Michael supplied. Eventually, they had to call the meeting to an end, and Michael assured Raphael that he would pay Castiel's bill. He was led outside by his eldest brother, and into Michael's car, where they instantly sealed the partition for privacy.

"Castiel?"

"Don't. Just don't." Castiel didn't want to hear Michael's lecture.

"I wasn't going to berate you. But whatever is going on, you have a roof over your head, Castiel. We'll all help you out. I know you're not one to spend money frivolously, Raphael said it was okay to let you use my money. But you are absolutely not to give those details to Meg."

Castiel nodded slowly.

"You're going to be okay, Cas. I'm not going to leave you with nothing. Mother and Father would have hated it if I had."

Castiel merely looked at his elder brother. Michael had never used a nickname, and Michael seemed to realise it, because he looked ashamed.

"My apologies. Dean would say Cas, I suppose it stuck. He talked about you with a lot of respect and admiration."

Castiel looked forward, wondering if he could bear to have this conversation on top of Meg's betrayal.

"What went wrong between the two of you? I thought you were smitten. I didn't realise you had a legitimate relationship with Meg."

Castiel turned to watch the road go by instead of focusing on anything in the car.

"Castiel?"

"Can you be completely honest with me, Michael?" Castiel asked the scenery.

"Of course," Michael sounded slightly taken aback.

"Did you set me up with Dean?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because it seemed like it a lot. You knew what he meant to me, you know how difficult I find things. There were enough moments to make it a plausible situation."

"I first met Dean at the Braedens, I thought you knew that? It was only at the golf club that I realised perhaps he was there on your request. Do you really think so little of me, Castiel, that I would try to control your happiness?"

Castiel didn't know what to say. Michael seemed to anticipate it.

"I don't know Dean well at all, but I do know that he was a good choice. He didn't care for money, he didn't care for notoriety. He has his own success. And he needed someone to trust as much as you did, Castiel. He's been hurt before, his sister told me just before the wedding. You weren't meant to hurt him, and he wasn't meant to use you."

"I paid him." Castiel murmured.

"I know. Charlie told me everything. I didn't realise your self esteem was so low that you think you need to bribe someone to be with you, Cas. I told you, you're a wonderful person and more people need to see that. Dean could see it, and look how crazy about you he was."

"He stopped talking to me."

"Did he?"

Castiel nodded.

"Yes. And please stop calling me Cas."

There was silence from Michael for a moment, but he didn't leave it too long before trying again.

"From what I know, from the last few months of getting to know Dean, he hasn't stopped caring about you. Even after you stopped seeing each other, when Balthazar and Gabriel were trying to stop your wedding, he wouldn't say anything even remotely insulting. He didn't even say anything bad about Meg, even though she was stealing you away from him. And of the two of them, he's the one to prove himself trustworthy. Whatever happens when we get back and you have to confront Meg, please remember that."

Castiel hadn't even thought about confronting Meg, but he knew that Michael was correct, it had to happen. He felt sick just contemplating it. What could they even say to each other? Would she accuse him of deserving it because he wasn't physical with each other? It was certainly a possibility.

But he needn't have worried. When they arrived back home, there was no sign of Meg. There was, however, a copy of some divorce papers on his bed. Michael gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

'A divorce is probably for the best, Castiel. And you won't owe her a thing, not beyond your pre-nup.'

Castiel's knees felt weak.

"I never got a pre-nup."

Michael again didn't berate him, although Castiel knew he thought it was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Of course it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, a pre-nup would have protected both himself and Meg. And here he was after a month of a sham marriage and completely broke without a leg to stand on.

"You were barely married, perhaps if she had left it a year there would have been less we could do to protect you but there's still some things we can do. And as she's the one filing for divorce and she has your money, she's the one who has to support you. I'll find you a good lawyer. Gabriel's got a lawyer friend, he might be able to get you in contact with the right person."

Castiel's world felt upside down. Michael and Gabriel were talking amongst themselves, he was flat broke, Meg was filing for a divorce … he wouldn't have been surprised if at that point, Balthazar brought a girl into the room and announced he was settling down, and his girl was a vegan tee-totaller who collected cats. It didn't happen, but what did happen was equally as surprising. Michael pulled him into a tight hug.

"You'll be okay, Cas. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

 **Sorry if it seems I rushed through the marriage. But then again, so did Meg and Castiel ...**


	18. Chapter 18

Meg never returned to the house, but sent her lawyers to try to talk to Castiel. Michael, Balthazar and Gabriel had all teamed up and were refusing them entry until Castiel had spoken to a lawyer of his own. Castiel had discovered that Gabriel's lawyer friend was none other than Sam Winchester, who didn't specialise in divorce or family law but had great contacts who did. Gabriel said he hadn't mentioned to Sam who it was for, and Castiel was grateful that he could avoid that social awkwardness. He also discovered how much his brothers had been bonding in the last few months. Michael may not have had the others exuberance, but they fit well together, and he seemed to take Gabriel and Balthazar's ribbing with good humour. Likewise, Balthazar and Gabriel seemed to have a newfound respect for their eldest brother, and actually seemed to listen to him.

Castiel observed all of their new interactions, but despite being in the same room as his brothers, he felt like there was a huge gulf between himself and them. He knew he had put it there, knew that they were working hard to get around that barrier and reach out to him, help him, but he couldn't help himself. He was withdrawing so much from the hurt that Meg was causing. That Castiel had let her cause.

He kept wondering if she had done it in revenge for not having a physical relationship. Whether, with each turn of his back she had withdrawn more and more money. Whether going through with intercourse would have resulted in the money going back. And whether that would have made any difference, because who was she to hold him to a ransom like that anyway? That wasn't what marriage was about, and that wasn't her right when it came to his money.

It scared him, how much the loss of his money actually meant to him. It wasn't so much the money as it was the security it gave him. He felt ashamed that he had judged Dean so thoroughly when it came to money, when he was just as guilty. Maybe he had squirrelled it away too much, maybe he should have spent more, the way his brothers did. It would have given Meg slightly less to take.

After several days of moping around the house, unable to concentrate when his lawyer and accountant showed up and spoke, Michael by his side and protecting him just as he said he would, it seemed that Gabriel and Balthazar snapped. They grabbed him as he was slinking out of his quarters, and muscled him outside.

"What's going on?" He asked, before he was bundled into one of the cars.

"Surprise, little bro," Gabriel beamed. Castiel groaned at the positivity in his voice, and curled up on the seat to go back to sleep. He was roused again, and let his brothers lead him half-asleep through a building he was vaguely aware was full of people, yet still light and airy. They attracted less attention than Castiel might have supposed they would, but it hardly mattered as they were on Balthazar's private plane about the time Castiel started to come around fully.

"Where are we going?" He wanted to know as his brothers settled into their seats, helping themselves to the alcohol caddies by their seats. He settled beside Gabriel, opposite Balthazar and Michael, on the plush white leather seats, and accepted a high ball that Balthazar slid across to him.

"Somewhere you can relax. We've taken care of everything." Michael reassured him, accepting a drink of his own. Castiel gripped his glass with both hands and sipped, before pushing the glass away abruptly. Balthazar raised an eyebrow at him, but he looked out of the window rather than respond. It tasted of the alcohol that Dean had been drinking at the auction, and there were already enough bad memories of that evening without the aid.

"This smells off," Michael commented. Castiel closed his eyes as his brothers discussed vintage and years of maturing or whatever else it was that interested them, and he let their chatter wash over him until he heard a few choice words. Like 'spiked' and 'Lucifer'. He opened his eyes and sat up, his brothers clamming up as soon as he did.

"Say that again." He looked at Balthazar, who had spoken.

"I said, I hope it's not the same bottle as the one at the auction. I think I saw Lucifer spike it fairly early on. Probably preying on the wait staff."

Castiel looked at Michael.

"That's what … that's … at the auction." He couldn't make himself talk about Dean, but he needed to say something. It was as though he had forgotten how to communicate effectively without mentioning Dean, but thankfully Michael seemed to remember their conversations just after it.

"You're positive, Castiel?"

He nodded.

"What's going on?" Gabriel wanted to know.

"Dean had that at the auction. Castiel had said he thought the drink was tampered with." He signalled to his assistant, who Castiel hadn't noticed before then, and handed the drink over with some muttered instructions, before sitting back in his seat and sighing loudly. "I wonder how long they were planning it."

"Long enough," Gabriel pulled a Red Vine from his pocket and bit a piece off. Castiel had felt like he'd been doused in cold water when Michael said Dean's name so casually, but now his interest was … not quite piqued, but stirring. The way they were talking, it sounded like … what did it sound like?

"It had to be at least as long as it took for Castiel to reveal he'd managed to ask Dean out," Balthazar suggested, already starting a new bottle. "I'd imagine it would have worked a lot better if Castiel hadn't managed to do that."

"Ugh, yeah, then it wouldn't have taken much for them to convince him to marry Meg and-"

"What?" Castiel interrupted. "Who are you talking about?"

He watched his brothers trade the same caged look, and realised that it had been the four of them for a while. He couldn't remember when he had last seen Luke. Luke, the only brother at his wedding. He was still hurt that the three brothers with him hadn't been there, but it almost sounded like … like they had been expecting this? Michael took pity on him, and explained everything, so far as they knew it.

"It's our understanding that Lucifer and Meg have had this planned for a while. They've had a lot planned, actually, and we've managed to prevent a lot of it from happening. Like Luke's determination to end all our contracts and make bad deals in my name so I lose my money. I blacklisted him a while ago, and he's been going further and further afield to find more people to sabotage me. He left these two alone, thinking that they were spending all their money like idiots." Michael shook his head as Balthazar and Gabriel snorted and spluttered.

"Darling, we're paid to appear at a lot of new venues. They give us free drink, they get free publicity. Win win."

"And if we get laid too, so be it," Gabriel nodded. "It's a good life."

Michael gave Castiel a kind smile.

"They're scarily good at what they do. And they're pretty good at reading people."

"Most people," Gabriel conceded, as Balthazar preened. "We always thought you were a douche too, Michael."

"Still,"Michael refocused. "With Lucifer thinking they were throwing their money away, and his repeated attempts to undermine me and reduce the value of my stock, he was left with how to get to you. Being a closed book worked in your favour, Castiel, because he wasn't sure how to get to you. The only thing he could think of was convincing Meg to flirt with you, to get to your share of the money that way. He wasn't expecting you to take his advice and actually ask a guy out, or that guy to be Dean, or for Dean to like you just as much."

Castiel was drinking Michael's explanation in, hating what he was hearing yet somehow feeling like he knew a lot of this already, he just hadn't filled in the most important blanks.

"So he was trying to undermine your relationship, and when that didn't work, he got Meg involved. I suppose he offered her a cut of all our money if she helped. They used the trust you give her to manipulate the circumstances, but Luke was gunning for all of us."

Castiel looked down at the table between them, still drinking in Michael's words.

"What I don't understand, however," Michael pressed. "Is why you stopped talking with Dean, why you agreed to marry Meg?"

"You said Dean walked away first, but he's been fighting to get back with you, Cas," Gabriel said softly. "Why do you think he walked away?"

"He stopped texting me back." Castiel whispered. Michael held his hand out, and Castiel put his cell phone in Michael's hand, letting him take it and pass it to his assistant, unsure what good it would do. Gabriel patted his shoulder gently.

"It'll all work out, Cas. You'll see."

He refocused out of the window, watching the world go by below them. His brothers let him, though he knew this wasn't the only conversation they were going to end up having on the matter.


	19. Chapter 19

Gabriel's place was gorgeous, right on the beach. Everything Castiel could ask for was right there as soon as he breathed the words, and yet he could not stop feeling that dense space within him. Like his heart and his lungs had been ripped out and nothing would close in around that gap.

Most days he took himself to the beach, sitting on the baking hot sand dunes that burned his flesh, with the tough scrubby grass poking through and scratching his thighs and ankles, and he looked out to the water. He liked the view, the way it was mostly the ocean, as far as the eye could see, how he could filter out most of the distant noises from the island and accept the vastness of the world. Somehow, it balanced out how small he felt.

Michael sat with him sometimes, embracing the quiet, the breeze off the ocean and barely speaking, just being there. It was nice, in its own way. They had only had one real conversation, something that didn't revolve around whether a fish had jumped out of the water or the heat of the day, and that was when Michael returned Castiel's cell phone with some bad - but not hugely surprising - news.

"There was a block on it. None of your messages went to Dean, none of his got through to you. Did you not ask each other why there was radio silence? Or call him? You would have found out much sooner."

It was something Castiel had already dwelled on. He could have gone over there, could have asked Edith if he'd been in touch, could have done anything other than listen to Meg. He said nothing in reply to Michael, but put his phone in his pocket, and held his knees close together, locking them in place with his hands, curling his toes in the sand.

"Well, when you're ready to try him again, it'll go through." Michael didn't seem upset by Castiel's silence.

"Thank you." His voice felt scratchy from lack of use.

"You're welcome. I didn't read your messages. I tried to respect your privacy."

Castiel merely sighed, and bowed his head. His privacy was the reason he was in this mess.

"I've also had that drink analysed. It did have something in it, Flunitrazepam? It's a drug people take to fight insomnia, but it's incredibly hard to get hold of, unless you live somewhere like Mexico. Luke asked Gloria to get hold of some a few months ago when she took a trip to visit family. It can be pretty potent, especially mixed in alcohol. You're lucky you didn't have an adverse reaction on the plane. Dean's lucky he didn't die."

Castiel's stomach plummeted.

"I said-"

"I know, and I was being foolish, I thought you were exaggerating, or trying to make Dean seem more reasonable for some behaviour that a lot of our associates wouldn't approve of. Luke must have thought it was hilarious, hearing me dismiss it, seeing you realise that Dean wouldn't have any recollections of your evening together. I don't suppose he would have cared if Dean had convulsed or died." He placed a gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I've blocked Luke's accounts, I've given instructions to my lawyers to strip him of his assets, to sue him for what he's done. I know it's not you and Dean dispensing justice, but he will not go unpunished, I promise."

Michael had also reassured him at dinner one of the first nights there, that Luke wouldn't be able to get his hands on anything else in the house. That a locksmith had been called, and new security hired to protect what existed in their mansion. Castiel was grateful, because the idea of losing his art on top of everything was too much. His brain couldn't process it.

But despite Michael's reassurances, the conversation that made him feel more human again came from the strangest source. Balthazar. He had come crashing along onto Castiel's dune with a couple of cocktail glasses in hand, one which he pressed on Castiel straight away.

"Bloody hell, this sand's hot. How can you possibly sit out here when it's like this?" Balthazar's accent, which he had picked up during a period of study in England, was even more pronounced. But Balthazar didn't move away, and despite his complaints, he sat beside his youngest brother.

"Drink up, they'll bring us more. Can't be wasting alcohol in this heat, Cassie," he sucked on the straw of his own drink, and Castiel lifted his slowly, as though he wasn't sure if he could actually drink like a human being still. "So, when we get back, are you throwing yourself at Dean's feet?"

Castiel chewed on his straw, staring out across the ocean. He wished he could even think Dean's name with the ease his brothers kept throwing it out at him. But he felt that it was increasingly likely that Dean wouldn't want anything to do with him. He had married another person instead of fighting hard to get to him, and Castiel couldn't explain how his terror had taken hold, how the choice was taken from him. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

"What? Aren't you into him anymore?"

"Stop," Castiel muttered.

"I don't think you understand, Cassie. That man was and is crazy about you. Last time I was at their house, I found this sketchbook with a rather illuminating picture of you and him in it. One he'd drawn. And you … I didn't even know you had that whole anxiety thing going on still, but you went and asked him out! Cassie … don't let this get in your way."

Castiel played with the condensation that was beading on the side of the glass. How could he explain to Balthazar of all people that he felt completely used up, and unable to push himself in the same way? How, every time he tried to picture the man that he was crazy about, his face was contorted with rage and scorn, and maybe it was already too late to salvage anything.

"Do you think he doesn't love you still?" Balthazar carried on. Castiel gave one small nod. "Well, then you're an idiot, Castiel."

Castiel turned around and took off his sunglasses to give his brother the filthiest look he could muster, and Balthazar smirked right back, and began ticking things off on his fingers.

"Dean only sketches things he cares about. According to Sam, there is a wealth of graphic material featuring the two of you throughout his various notebooks. He tried to stop your wedding, even though he thought you weren't texting him back, even when he thought maybe you had moved on. He tried to do it for you, not for him. You are not the one on your last strike of Sam's, because apparently 'don't flirt with Dean or you're out on your ass' applies for every time, not just each individual occasion. Oh, and," having ticked off all his fingers, Balthazar chose to slap Castiel around the face instead. "If it really just mattered about the money, or being a Novak, Dean wouldn't have thought twice about me hitting on him. He and I could have re-enacted some of his artwork, he could have charged me for the pleasure and I would have willingly stuffed hundred dollar bills into his g-string. You are not the only Novak who showed him some interest."

Castiel was rubbing the cheek that Balthazar had slapped, but now he was staring at his brother with his eyes widening. He had forgotten completely about Balthazar's fixation on Dean.

"And at first it was like, 'dude, not cool, I'm here with Cas' and I thought a-ha, still a possibility, but then it went to Sam saying Dean didn't like it and giving me those three strikes and now it's 'I swear to God, B, if you try and touch my ass again I'll break your fingers.' Which I think is completely uncalled for. And yet, he's slept with you, and drawn you, and … Cassie, don't throw him away."

"He turned you down?" Castiel whispered.

"Every single bloody time. What did you ever say to get him to kiss you?"

"He was trying to speak high school French," Castiel smiled to himself. "I kissed him."

"Ahh. Cassie the dark horse. What was the French? Je suis un garcon?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling either. It felt strange, but also right, there up on the bluff next to Balthazar, who whatever his words were, had a tone of someone who just wanted his brother happy.

"No, he ordered bread."

"Carbs. Figures." Balthazar shook his head theatrically. "Good to see you smile, Cassie."

"Thanks. Hey, Balthazar?"

"Yes, Cassie?"

"You really think he'd still take me back?"

Balthazar took a large swig of his cocktail before answering.

"Darling, I don't know what magic you weaved on him, but yes, in a fucking heartbeat. He's as gaga for you as you've ever been for him. Pretty sure if he had a copy of Time with your face on it he would have obsessed over it too. Of course, it's Dean, so it'll be in his own coarse-yet-irresistible way. Just don't leave it too long, Cassie."

Castiel nodded, and waited until Balthazar was walking away to call one last thing at him.

"Balthazar?"

"Yes?" Balthazar stopped walking away, shielding his eyes from the sun to look at his little brother.

"You're really going to have to stop hitting on my boyfriend."

"Not your boyfriend yet!" Balthazar called out.

"I'll let him break your fingers!" Castiel called back. Balthazar's laughter carried back on the wind, and Castiel's smile didn't fade. Balthazar had brought some fresh hope to him, and he could feel himself start to pull together again. He knew his brother was right, he would have to make amends with Dean, have to be the one doing the approach this time. But despite the time pressure, he couldn't rush into it either. He had to feel strong enough, to not freeze up and ruin it. He owed it to Dean to not cave to his anxiety when he did go and try to win him back.


	20. Chapter 20

The first thing Castiel did was to make more of an effort to talk to his brothers. There was no way he'd be able to talk to Dean again without practicing, and he was realising that he had been unfair to every single one of his brothers. Really, they had a lot of admirable qualities. Like Balthazar was enthusiastic about so many people he knew, and never had a bad word to say about them, so long as he liked them anyway. Gabriel was a lot of fun, but also had a good head on his shoulders. And Michael had borne a lot of stress that he'd refused to let filter down to the rest of the family. As strained as Castiel felt with his limitations, he was starting to become aware of how much his eldest brother had been protecting him, trying to help him. Even asking after Dean had just been Michael trying to take on the parental role. Castiel found himself sticking to Michael's side for the rest of the vacation, asking questions about the businesses and Michael's interests and Amara. If Michael was unsure of his motivations he didn't voice them, but made the effort as well.

They spent a long time discussing Dean as well, and what Castiel could do to make amends, and how everything had unravelled in the first place. Sometimes, this was in front of Gabriel and Balthazar, though it wasn't always helpful.

"How did you ever think Dean was being bribed by Michael?" Gabriel snorted one evening, as they sat around a dinner table crammed with fresh vegetables and fish caught that day. "Do you even know how to bribe anyone, Michael?"

"Gabriel," Michael shook his head, and looked at Castiel. "Of course I wasn't bribing him. It was actually quite awkward seeing you together for the first time. I realised I hadn't been very welcoming when I had met him, and I'd told him you were a fan of his. I was worried I'd made it worse for you."

"He hadn't mentioned it until then." Castiel mused.

"Duh, Michael's forgettable." Balthazar grinned.

"At least people can say my name. Without looking like I'm pranking them."

Castiel grinned at Gabriel, who smirked back. He liked this new relationship emerging between them, feeling a part of Gabriel and Balthazar's jokes rather than on the receiving end.

"It was difficult anyway. But Dean made it easier. He always … I always found it easier when he was there."

Castiel looked away from Gabriel as he spoke. Michael squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Can I ask you all something?" Castiel pressed on, hoping to avoid the topic of his anxiety issues. They made noises of assent, or gestured with their drinks. "Why were none of you at my wedding?"

There was a loaded pause, which Balthazar broke.

"Well, I wasn't going to watch her get her claws into you."

"I was talking to Dean after he saw you," Gabriel crunched on a carrot stick.

"I couldn't do it either. Watch you commit yourself to an unhappy marriage." Michael muttered.

"I kept waiting for one of you to show up. Or for Dean to see my last text and come and disrupt the wedding." Castiel admitted.

"You could have not gone through with it." Balthazar pointed out. "Would have been far less messy."

"You could have, B, Cas isn't like that." Gabriel diffused a possible argument. "But what you're saying, Cas, is that a big dramatic wedding crash would have been okay? Because that was Charlie's idea."

"Charlie hated me." Castiel deflected. Because maybe Gabriel had a point, as much as he had been hoping for the interruption, he would not have reacted to one. He had been frozen to the spot, repeating words without intonation, he wouldn't have had the capacity to fling himself at Dean should he have reappeared.

"Nah, Charlie wants what's best for Dean. She knows you made him happy. I mean, she wants to string you up by your balls too, but not when Dean's around."

"I like Charlie," Michael interrupted. "She helped me figure out a lot of what's gone on with Luke. She's very bright."

"Sam's smart too," Gabriel pointed out. "Shame he's as straight as they come."

"Shame the longest you've been with anyone is two dates," Balthazar laughed. "And you look nothing like Sam's girlfriend."

Gabriel shrugged easily, and Castiel tried to remain in the conversation. It was strange to hear his brothers talking about Dean's family so intimately when he had found it so hard to even have a basic conversation with them, but then his brothers had always been more open than he was.

"I don't think I would have loved having the interruption, but I was feeling desperate."

"Why didn't you come after Dean? All he said was that he cleared the air with you, but he would have stopped in a second if we heard you coming."

"I tried. I did, as soon as I realised he'd left the room, I was looking for him. But Azazel found me, and made Luke take me back to finish getting ready and,"

Michael groaned loudly, cutting Castiel off.

"Sorry, it's just, the more I hear of this, the angrier I feel. It's like they knew there was a possibility Dean would try to interrupt and we- we just didn't do enough."

They all fell silent for a moment, until Balthazar rallied around.

"Well, now, we know what's got to happen going forward, and these cocktails aren't going to drink themselves."

* * *

It took a few weeks after they returned home for Castiel to muster the courage to go to Dean's house. His phone had been unlocked, sure, but this needed more than a text. And what could he really type? It didn't feel like enough of an effort. And he had to show Dean the kind of effort he was making. He had let his brothers dress him, because apparently his usual suit was too intimidating for a working stiff like Dean. But they hadn't strayed too far from what he found comfortable, and had ended up in one of Gabriel's tamer shirts and a pair of slacks. He had gone alone to Dean's house, not allowing himself a safety net, or a way of backing out. He wanted to have to make more of an effort to leave than he would need to have to stay.

He took a couple of minutes outside of the house, psyching himself up before ringing the doorbell. But even after he did, there was no answer. He tried again, and waited a few moments more before heading towards the studio, wondering if Dean and Charlie were holed up in there. But the door was locked, the lights were off. He walked back to the front door and sat on the steps just outside of it, preparing to wait. He put his head in his hands, scrunching up his hair, just thinking over every time he had been to this house. Seeing the Winchesters and how close they could be, realising how little that existed in his own life. Taking in the reality of what was to come.

He had sat there for maybe half an hour when he heard people talking, walking along the street, and he looked up to see the Winchesters approaching. Charlie was carrying a basket, Dean and Sam were tossing a football between themselves. They stopped walking as he looked up, and he could feel their joint stares as he stood up. Charlie's look was accusatory, Sam's was questioning, and Dean's … Dean's was that elusive poker face. But that somehow made it easier to speak to him, to look him in the face and say what needed to be said.

"May I talk with you?"

Dean looked to Sam, just for a moment, before looking back at Castiel. Charlie pushed past to get into the house, and Sam nodded at Castiel as he followed his sister, leaving them outside on the porch together. Dean didn't say anything, but nodded into the house, and Castiel moved before Dean could change his mind. He walked through the familiar house, looking back at Dean to see where Dean was willing to talk to him. Dean gestured to the kitchen, still not saying anything. Charlie was in there, putting away food from the basket that they didn't eat and rolling her eyes every time she looked at Castiel. As soon as she was done she stomped out of the room, and Dean headed to the coffee machine.

"Want a coffee?"

Dean was looking away, but that didn't matter. So far, he had been more than reasonable. Perhaps Balthazar was correct and it would be relatively easy to win Dean back. Though it didn't feel like he deserved for it to be so easy.

As Dean made the coffee, Castiel took a seat at their dining table, and put his head back in his hands. He had to stop second-guessing everything to do with Dean. Part of why they had failed in the first place was because he kept looking for the complication, the way to explain away Dean's ease at their situation. If this was going to be an actual thing between them, he had to trust Dean more, take him at face value. So maybe it would be easy, or maybe it wouldn't, but whichever way it went, it was more representative of how Dean was than what Castiel deserved.

Dean placed a mug in front of him as someone moved behind him, and he listened to the conversation.

"Hey, um, didn't want to interrupt," Sam lowered his voice. "Char's doing some LARP stuff, I'm going to Amelia's. Going to surprise her with a candlelit dinner. So, um, so you have privacy. But Charlie's here if you need her. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. You got everything you need for Amelia?"

"She will. See you later."

Castiel listened to Sam walking away, and Dean sitting in the chair opposite, and he tried to gather that courage that he needed again.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Dean's tone was soft, non-judgemental. Like he could remember everything that Castiel had struggled with and was determined not to scare him off. Like he cared still, despite everything. Castiel groaned in frustration at his own pigheadedness, and looked between his fingers at Dean, who was holding his coffee with both hands.

"I think I've made a huge mistake."

It was an understatement. He had made several vast mistakes.

"What mistake?" Dean's tone was still kind, still put Castiel in mind of a person handling a spooked animal. He removed his hands, and made himself sit up. He needed to be stronger, to get these words out. And he needed Dean to know the full story. He knew from his brothers that Dean knew some things, they had told everything during their vacation, but Dean had never had the whole thing explained to him. And even if he wasn't going to take Castiel back, he at least deserved to know how little he was at fault. But saying those thoughts out loud had never been Castiel's forte.

"I don't know. Maybe more than one." He took a deep breath, let it out in a heavy sigh, and forced himself to try to explain. "Michael was putting pressure on me to commit to various businesses because - I thought - he had an incentive for doing so. Luke kept telling me that it wasn't in my best interests, that Michael was only thinking of himself. He said it would be better if … I was so stupid."

He started tapping his nails on the table, unable to stop his tics presenting themselves. He was nervous, he was scared Dean wouldn't care, and he wasn't doing a great job of explaining himself.

"Better if?" Dean didn't let him drop the sentence. Castiel tried to gather all his thoughts, all the past conversations he had with all his siblings and make some sense of them, so that Dean could make sense of them.

"He persuaded me that it was better to marry Meg and let her take charge. That he knew my heart wasn't in it but Meg had always been there for me and she was decisive. And when I spoke to her, she said it was a great idea, and she was surprised Luke came up with it."

He looked into his coffee mug, rather than see Dean's reaction.

"That's why you married her? Because of something Lucifer said?"

Dean was listening, it was obvious in his tone. He wasn't just listening to Castiel's words, but his feelings too. And he was about to be crushed by the truth, by Castiel's ignorance and Lucifer's manipulation.

"They got me good," Castiel forced himself to continue. "I've had people use me in the past, Dean. People who were after my money, or my status. And Meg's been my friend forever, her parents knew my parents. If she says someone's a creep, I have no reason not to believe her. She's been proven right before. Although I guess, looking back, maybe Meg framed them. I don't know. I don't know what to believe right now."

He looked at the dark brown bubbles on the edge of the coffee, slowly popping into the black water beneath. Maybe he wasn't doing well enough to maintain eye contact, but at least he was getting this out there.

"If you don't know what to believe, then why did you come to me? Why are you putting me above your wife?"

It felt like a stab in the heart, and Castiel physically jerked in reaction. Was that Dean's way of telling him to get lost? Or did he just not realise … Castiel laid it all bare.

"My marriage is over."

Dean began spluttering, and Castiel's finger tapping became faster, slightly louder. It still hurt, more than the dissolution of his marriage, but he had to say it, had to let Dean know.

"And I'm broke."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, like he could somehow erase the memory of saying it. The reality of having no money, of relying so heavily on Michael, was already taking its toll.

"Okay, Cas, start at the beginning. I want to understand what's gone wrong."

His fingers stopped tapping, and he looked up at Dean, who was watching him quietly. Their gazes connected, and Castiel felt that burning sensation leap from his stomach into his chest. That familiar fluttering through his veins. And he knew that he had been stupid to ever doubt Dean, or second-guess him, or listen to Meg and think that getting engaged was a normal thing to do a few days after hearing nothing from his busy boyfriend. Dean deserved complete transparency, as much as Castiel could give him.

"You know my brothers power-play. They were doing it long before you came along, and when you did come along, you somehow became Michael's pawn. When he was talking about you in that suit, the one you wore to your art show; part of me agreed that you would look so good in that suit - and you did, you were irresistible - but part of me wondered if Michael had set it up somehow, had talked you into agreeing to date me so he could push his agenda. At home, Michael asked about you constantly, about how we met, when we started dating. He was too interested. It made me wary. Meanwhile, Luke was hovering, making off-hand comments about Michael. I thought he was backing off, becoming easier to tolerate. He started questioning your motives. He's good. It was like, 'so the artist has agreed to come to an auction and let you buy him an island, Castiel?' and I didn't see through it. But then we kissed and it was everything I wanted."

He couldn't help but smile, and Dean did too, though he hid it by taking a mouthful of his drink. Castiel had the feeling that Dean was remembering a very different first kiss. It felt good, to finally explain his apprehension to someone, even if it meant that Dean might end up more hurt. At least after this, if they still had a chance, Dean would know, would be able to soothe Castiel's suspicions … not that he had any left about Michael. His eldest brother was a rock.

"Maybe Luke knew that, despite all his hints, I was falling for you. That I wanted to believe you and the things you said, the way you were with me. And I did, Dean. I trusted you. I liked what we were, where we were going. I liked Charlie and Sam, and the way they look out for you. I don't think I would have managed without knowing that they were there for you. They probably curse my name, right?"

He was trying to make a joke of it. He knew Charlie hated him. He didn't know about Sam, but he had a feeling that Sam knew which brother had needed a divorce lawyer. Regardless, Sam was still going to be loyal to Dean.

"Nope. We don't talk about you. It's too raw." Dean stated, and drank from his mug again. Castiel looked down at his own drink, trying to process Dean's confession. He didn't like hearing that Dean had been that hurt, but at the same time it felt like Dean was admitting it for a reason. Not to score a point, or demand sympathy, but to let Castiel know that despite the hurt, he was still open to the idea of a relationship again, possibly. Dean resumed his poker face. "Carry on."

Castiel gathered himself, and continued.

"I suppose that Luke had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter what he said about you, I was too interested to let it get to me. We argued over that dinner about it, about how naive he thought I was being, how I couldn't see you for what you really were."

It still stung, the way Lucifer had called Dean irrelevant, the things he had said that night.

"So he got Meg on side, getting her to talk to me. That worked a lot better, since it wasn't one of my brothers. Even after our night on my boat, somehow they convinced me that you weren't genuine. And then Gabriel and Balthazar made some stupid joke about how I was going to end up with Meg the way she always hung around, and Luke jumped on it and … I don't know. Somehow he made it make sense to propose to her. Our deal was over, and I knew we had talking about seeing each other again but I thought that maybe it was just the thing you said even if you weren't going to continue seeing someone. And Meg had me convinced that you had your money, you wouldn't be back. That the invitation to your art show was some lame way of thanking me, and that your irregular communication was confirmation that you were no longer interested."

"You could have just talked to me," Dean pointed out. "You made me feel like crap that night."

"And I'm sorry. But if your best friend and your brother had constantly trashed me, made you doubt why I liked you, would you really have listened to me?"

Castiel hated himself for the words. He sounded so whiny. And there was no good apology that was ever followed by the word 'but'.

"Sam wouldn't do that. So yes." Dean folded his arms and sat back in his chair, but Castiel wasn't offended. Instead, he picked up on what Dean had said in so few words. That Sam was his best friend as well as his brother. And that Sam hadn't said anything bad about Castiel, unlike Charlie perhaps had.

"You're much more fortunate than I am, then." He tried not to be bitter. After all, he had three surprisingly good brothers, that was more than most people. "My engagement to Meg was one of convenience. She knew it as much as I did. I was - am - crazy about you. But she was far more successful than my brother in convincing me that it was better to marry someone who had proven themselves to be reliable and trustworthy than it was to be swayed by good looks and passion. My other brothers tried to change my mind, Michael begged me to reconsider and go back to you. And I'm afraid that sealed it for me, that if Michael didn't agree with my best friend then it was obviously my friend who was right."

"I like Michael." Dean stated the obvious.

"I know." Castiel felt his mouth go dry, and finally took a mouthful of coffee, which had now cooled and was far too strong for his tastes. He put the cup down, and made himself to swallow his mouthful. "It only took a couple of days after the wedding for Meg to start asking about money. I thought it was weird, but it was Meg. I trusted her. I gave her access to my accounts. And after a month, I went to check my finances, and my accountant said it was all gone. Next thing I know, Meg's handing me divorce papers. I never got a pre-nup, which was stupid of me considering the paperwork I put you through. But I didn't think I had to. Why would I, when Meg's as wealthy as I was? Michael's been going crazy the last couple of months, working hard on getting it back for me, threatening to sue Meg's entire estate. She told him Luke had set it all up, it's all in off-shore accounts that apparently even she can't access. There's been a lot going on. Michael's frozen everything Luke owns, he's said Luke doesn't get a cent until it's all back, but I think Meg double-crossed him too. He said today he couldn't get it back, that it was gone. So I'm completely broke, and I don't really know who I'm meant to trust at this point. I think the only person I do trust is you. I was stupid to hurt you."

Dean looked at his own mug, and Castiel let him think. After all, Dean had always respected the thinking time that he needed. After a few minutes, he started talking again.

"I know I don't deserve anything from you, Dean. I know how much I hurt you. When you dropped off the statues, it was difficult for both of us. And then when you were there just before the wedding, just trying to prove you care … that's the thing that I kept coming back to. That you'd done nothing; that I'd been lied to, and you still apologised. You still thought it was on you. But it never was, and I don't know how I'm going to make it up to you. Even if you don't want me back."

Dean stayed quiet for a couple of minutes longer, before he spoke into his mug.

"You're not completely broke."

He looked up and caught Castiel's eye, before shrugging carelessly.

"I haven't touched the money. You can have it back. What am I going to do with four million dollars?"

It wasn't a reaction Castiel had been expecting. And who said that about so much money?

"I don't want it. I never wanted it. I only accepted it in the first place because it seemed to make you feel better to offer it. And you don't know how to cope without it."

"Dean,"

"If you're really going to push me, Cas, I'll say that you're the thing I want to spend that money on. It's yours. It was always yours."

The way Dean's voice shook made Castiel wonder if they were actually talking about the money, or whether it was a distraction from Dean's obvious hurt.

"I'd rather know where I stand with you than worry about my money." It was honest. Although it had shaken Castiel to realise that he didn't have any money any more, it had devastated him to be without Dean. "Michael and Gabriel and Balthazar have all been uncharacteristically wonderful in the last few months, despite my stupidity. I'm broke, sure, but I still have them keeping a roof over my head. Do I stand any chance with you?"

It was the boldest thing Castiel had ever asked, and probably the most stupid. But Dean didn't treat the question as either option.

"What's happened with your art collection?" He wanted to know.

"What?"

"It's relevant."

Castiel wondered if Dean was asking because he never really got the chance to look around before the wedding.

"It's at the family home still. I hadn't moved anything out when I married Meg. We had only just found a place. She also doesn't have access to my boat, or any leverage to get it. She didn't take everything. But she has broken my trust. I thought that, because her family was like mine, because of all our history … I thought she was like me. I thought it would be okay."

Dean grabbed both the coffee cups and took them to the sink, pouring the cold liquid away before placing the china down carefully.

"So you still have my sculpture?"

Castiel's heart jackhammered. The sculpture of his mother was of course going to be important. As if Castiel would that slip through his fingers.

"Yes."

Dean turned back to face him, holding on to the lip of the sink behind him, looking comfortable despite the serious expression on his face.

"I'm not making any promises, Cas. I'm sorry this has happened. I meant it when I said I hoped that you'd be happy with her, I'm not gloating now. But I'm also not going to drop everything just because you think you're ready for me. You have to earn it, this time around."

Castiel nodded. So they were in agreement on that. Although, Castiel felt like this conversation should have earned him some points.

"Can I start now?"

"You already have," Dean gave a small smile. "Thanks for finally telling me."

"Thanks for listening to me. I've been a jerk."

Dean didn't argue.

"Yeah, well, fresh starts." He looked at his feet for a moment, before giving Castiel another measured smile. "Char and I have a Buffy-and-jenga date set for Thursday, wanna come over? Give my sister two asses to kick."

Castiel forced himself not to jump all over Dean in gratitude.

"Was this one of the dates you had planned?"

"No. This is not a date. This is me and my sister hanging out and inviting you along and then maybe my sister will begin to forgive you."

"And no Sam?"

"Nope. He has a date with Bore … Amelia." Dean smirked adorably. "His girlfriend."

"Gabriel said something about that."

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, they're buds."

"Well, I'd love to come over Thursday. What time?"

"I'll tex- you know what? Come at six."

"You can text me," Castiel said softly. "Your number got blocked from my phone, but it's fixed now."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded as he opened them.

"Cool. Um, not to be a total dickbag, but do you mind going now? I just … I need some time."

"Of course. Sorry." Castiel stood up, and they walked to the front door together, Dean staying out of reach as much as possible. He turned back when he was outside the front door. "Dean, I'm so grateful that you listened, that you're still talking to me."

"Yeah, well, your brothers figured Luke was up to something." Dean shrugged, and leaned against the doorway.

"And I want you to know that I did follow you. After … after our last kiss. I hadn't said anything, and you didn't know how I felt. But I guess they anticipated something happening, because Meg's father caught me before I found you. But if he hadn't? I would have left with you that day."

"Okay." Dean swallowed, and began shutting the door. Castiel took it as the huge hint that it was.

"Okay. Um, bye."

"See you Thursday."

"See you."

Dean closed the front door, and Castiel made himself walk away. Maybe it hadn't gone perfectly, and maybe Dean wasn't his again, but there was the possibility that he could be sometime soon. He would have liked a goodbye hug, or kiss, or something, but he knew that it was pushing it that much too far to have tried.


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel's brothers had been more than enthusiastic about the idea of him going to Dean's house. None of them seemed to register that it wasn't a date, because they kept giving him tips. Michael's were of course the most sensible, telling him to pace himself, to take his cues from Dean. Gabriel's idea of advice was to suggest ways he could touch Dean without it being 'technically sexual assault' and Balthazar decided to give him a make over. He was thrust into Balthazar's jeans, and a low v-neck tee, and some sneakers that looked so pristine white Castiel wasn't sure they were really supposed to be worn. It felt strange to be in sneakers when he was so used to more formal shoes, especially now he was helping Michael with some of the family's business interests.

It wasn't what he wanted to be doing, but he felt indebted to Michael, who had been nothing but understanding since the marriage started to fold, who had given without any expectation of getting anything back. It wasn't like Michael particularly wanted to be doing any of it either, but he felt a sense of duty. Castiel felt like he had to earn his way now, that maybe by participating more in family affairs he would actually be entitled to any money he had. Although Michael was still trying to get it back for him, he wasn't too worried about getting his old fortune back.

He was worn out by the time he was making his way up the pathway to Dean's house, though he hoped that the sight of his favourite person would galvanise him. And besides, Dean had made it sound relaxing, board games and television and just spending time together. The only strain would come from appealing to Charlie's better side. He knocked, and waited, and Dean was the one to open the door. He looked Castiel up and down, poker face on.

"Hey. Didn't think you owned jeans."

Castiel swallowed down his immediate reaction to over analyse why Dean would comment on his attire.

"I don't. These are Balth's. He gave me the top as well. I thought maybe it would make you more comfortable if I wasn't dressed up."

Dean nodded and took a step back, and Castiel made himself walk into the house, despite the fact he could feel tension radiating from Dean. Maybe the evening wouldn't be so relaxing. Charlie walked from the kitchen to the sitting room, passing right in front of Castiel and acting like he wasn't there, and a few moments after the door closed behind her he could hear a strange clacking sound. Dean spoke behind him.

"Um, if Charlie gives you shit tonight … I mean it's not - she said she's never going to forgive you. But that doesn't mean … I'm glad you came."

Could it be that Dean was as anxious as Castiel normally felt? He tried to take it all in stride, force himself to be confident. Or at least, to sound it.

"Okay. So I have to win over Charlie as well as you."

"And Sam. He hasn't said much, but I don't think he's impressed that I'm considering taking you back."

Castiel nodded. It wasn't wonderful hearing that Sam didn't like the idea of them together again, but the fact that Dean was still thinking of being with Castiel was a confidence boost. There were footsteps on the stairs, and Sam came down them, dressed up and adjusting his cufflinks as he walked, his long hair tucked behind his ears.

"Do you think this looks okay?" He asked his brother. Dean gave that adorable mini smirk.

"It looks like you're going to a funeral. So yes."

"That's not funny, Dean," Sam pouted, obviously nervous himself. "I'm going to ask Charlie."

Through the door, they all heard her call out.

"You look like a penguin Sam. It's an opera, not a zoo!"

Sam's expression was similar to Michael's when he was most stressed. Clearly the night was a big deal to him and his siblings weren't making it easy for him. Castiel made the effort, hoping that maybe Sam would appreciate it, would maybe be more positive about him coming back into their lives. He knew as much about opera as he did about black-and-white movies, or contemporary art.

"Which opera are you going to see?"

Sam looked him dead in the eye, and Castiel was treated to the way Sam's legal opponents must feel when they came up against him. He had a steely gaze and a set to his mouth that meant no nonsense. It appeared that Dean's brother was very expressive. But he was also polite.

"La Damnation de Faust."

It was an interesting choice, Castiel thought. People normally went to Carmen or Madame Butterfly. Castiel was visited with that urge, to talk about Berlioz and his obsession with a book that led to the narrative of the opera. How it was an interesting journey of one man's obsession with a woman that led him into hell. How his overthinking led to a life of unhappiness … maybe it was best not to discuss the plot line and ruin it for Sam. Or overanalyse how close Faust's fictional life seemed to mirror parts of his own. But he couldn't say nothing to Sam.

"I like that one. Haunting. I hope you enjoy it."

Literally haunting, in one sense, Castiel thought. Sam's expression was still similar to that which Castiel imagined graced the courtroom frequently.

"Thanks."

"Your suit is fine." He also offered.

"Uh-huh." Sam was clearly done with Castiel's attempts at conversation, pitiful as they were, and looked again at Dean. "Don't wait up for me."

Dean had said similar to Sam before. Castiel supposed it must just be part of their family, to leave with that request. He wondered if any of them stuck to it, as Dean handed over a set of car keys.

"Take the Impala. It's bad enough you're going to some opera and listening to high pitched singing all night, you might as well look good on your way there."

Sam took the keys, and left the house, and Castiel caught Dean's eye, wondering what he thought of his interaction with the middle Winchester. Before they could say anything, Charlie spoke from the doorway to the sitting room. Castiel hadn't realised she had opened the door. She spoke directly to Dean, blanking Castiel completely.

"You know, the Impala won't make Boremelia interesting."

"Maybe not, but I did it for Sam, not her."

Castiel reflected, as Charlie reminded them about the game, that this was maybe how the Winchesters operated. Charlie disliked her brother's partners, and Dean and Sam did what they could to support each other regardless of what they truly thought. Charlie had to dislike Sam's girlfriend, to give her such a mean moniker. She went back into the sitting room, and Castiel made eye contact with Dean.

"That could have gone worse."

"You should probably give it more than five minutes. Do you want a drink?"

It was strange how, despite the obvious hurt Castiel had caused him, Dean was still so attentive. He asked for beer, and followed Dean into the kitchen, where he pulled out drinks for them both, and something for Charlie too. And then, just before handing over Castiel's beer, he pulled it back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"How did you get here?"

"Kevin. He was hired by Michael, our limos were from Father and technically now owned by Michael too."

Dean held Castiel's beer even closer.

"Get Kevin in here. The kid's going to be bored out of his mind just waiting for you in the car, when he can watch Charlie kick our ass at Jenga and enjoy some quality TV. You don't get your beer until he's in here."

Castiel smiled, but obliged, leaving the house and walking up to the car, knocking on the window and making Kevin jump. Kevin who had been listening to music and typing something into his phone.

"Everything okay, Castiel? Has Dean asked you to leave?"

"No. He wants you to come in, join in with us. He's blackmailing me to get you in there so please don't argue."

Kevin stopped his music and brought his cell out with him, locking up the car and walking with Castiel back to Dean's house.

"I won't get fired, will I?"

"No. I won't let Michael do that. And Dean likes you. His sister will probably prefer you to me too, she's not my biggest fan right now."

Kevin gave him a small smile, before they stepped back through the front door, Castiel guiding Kevin into the kitchen. Dean sorted Kevin's beverage, and finally passed Castiel his beer bottle, though Castiel noticed he was cautious not to make contact with him. They made their way into the sitting room, where Charlie was sitting in the middle of a mass of fabrics, the game set up on their coffee table and the television screen dark. She watched them enter, and spoke to Dean, her voice oozing sarcasm.

"No, no, you take your time flirting with the guy who broke your heart and ignoring the entire plan for tonight. I'm fine."

Dean didn't acknowledge that Charlie had mentioned his broken heart, but offered her a drink, and introduced Kevin. He took a seat on the sofa and Castiel sat beside him, perhaps too eagerly, perhaps too closely. But he couldn't help himself, he missed Dean so much. Charlie put the programme on, and came closer to play Jenga. Castiel hadn't actually played before, but the concept was simple enough, though he wasn't sure that all the rules Charlie and Dean imparted on him were technically part of the game. He found himself leaning across Dean when it came to his turn, accidentally touching Dean's legs as he did so, sometimes resting a hand on his knee to shuffle closer. Dean's breath would catch, and then would try to shift away from him slightly, silently telling Castiel not to be over familiar.

He did his best to avoid doing it, but as the alcohol flowed and the games went on, it became more difficult. And especially as every time Castiel looked at the television it was to see Buffy and Angel and their blossoming relationship. Eventually, when Charlie finally lost a round of Jenga, Dean excused himself to the bathroom and Charlie began shoving the tiles back into their container. She put the box back, and spoke to a spot on the wall above Castiel's head.

"I'm going to bed, if Dean asks. Can't believe I lost a game," she shook her head in disappointment and stalked out of the room, muttering about how humiliating it was. Castiel watched her go, and looked at Kevin, who was curled up in the armchair, his eyes closed and face slackened with sleep. Castiel called his name tentatively, and he didn't stir. He looked around the room, at all the paraphernalia that made up the Winchester's downtime, and wondered whether it was wise to leave. Dean hadn't wanted physical contact all evening, had cringed away from him constantly. Charlie still disliked him, and Kevin was either worn out or bored.

"Where did my sister go?" Dean's voice broke his reverie. He stood in the doorway, looking at Castiel. And Castiel no longer wanted to go, he wanted to spend more time with Dean, more time righting their situation. More time convincing Dean that it was right for them to try again.

"To bed. She said she couldn't live with the humiliation of finally losing a round of Jenga. Kevin fell asleep a moment ago. I was hoping that maybe we could talk now."

Dean rubbed at his face, and Castiel realised that maybe he was pushing his luck. He couldn't rush Dean, not if he was going to get what he really wanted.

"Unless you want to go to sleep too. Then we'll go. I'll wake up Kevin and we'll … we'll go."

Dean spoke from behind his hand, sounding completely defeated.

"Leave Kevin. It'll be fine; we'll put a blanket over him. Maybe we should talk in my room?"

It sounded like Dean didn't want to, but Castiel didn't want to lose the opportunity to have more time with him. He nodded, feeling greedy and selfish, and watched as Dean covered Kevin with a comforter and checked he would be comfortable, before leading the way up the stairs. Castiel followed, trying to drink in all the details, like Sam's diploma hanging on the wall beside some of Dean's art certificates, Charlie's door covered in stickers, Sam's one plain and Dean's with a couple of small metalworks sticking out just above eye level. Inside, the walls looked at first as though they were covered in peeling wallpaper, but as Castiel walked in he realised that the walls were crammed with sketches. Sketches from the local park, of Dean's siblings, some ideas that had already come to fruition and some that Castiel knew Dean would get to work on eventually.

Despite the cluttered walls, the room was pristine, and minimalist. There was a double bed, neatly made, and a desk with sketchbooks and pots of pencils and pens. A small side table beside the bed, and a door half-hidden under doodles that Castiel guessed was his closet. Dean took the seat beside the desk, and pointed to the bed. Castiel perched on the edge of it cautiously.

"This was nice," he tried to put a positive spin on it. "Spending time together without any expectations."

Dean didn't look at him, but at his own hands as he toyed with a pencil, rolling it across the surface of his desk. Perhaps he could hear just how false Castiel's optimism was. And Castiel didn't know what to do, what it was that Dean wanted before he would soften.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Dean changed the topic, and Castiel seized the opportunity.

"Right now, I want to know: you drew these?"

"Yeah. I sketch a lot. Not like there's any money in it."

"Unless you make them afterwards," Castiel pointed out, gesturing to one of the sketches he had seen that first day in the studio. "You're incredibly talented, Dean."

Dean merely shrugged, and Castiel began to feel annoyed. He was making the effort, he was trying to regain the relationship that Dean said he wanted too, and Dean was being belligerent. If he didn't want Castiel there, he should speak up rather than torturing Castiel in this way.

"You know, for someone who says they're not motivated by money, you mention it an awful lot."

It was abrasive and reflected Castiel's thoughts about himself, but it goaded a reaction out of Dean.

"Yeah, well. I'm the eldest, I'm meant to look after Sam and Charlie. And Charlie had a misunderstanding at her last job and can't get hired, and Sam's working his ass off as a lawyer. He's the one who just about has enough for us to pay our bills. Until the last art show, I maybe sold one or two sculptures a year, which just about helped us out. I care about money enough to keep us in this place, to keep Charlie in her LARP group and keep Sam at his practice. I care enough about money to make sure we can all eat and I can look after the car Dad gave me. The only reason we still all live together is because we can't afford to live apart. So yeah, I care about money, so long as it has an affect on Sam and Charlie. I care about paying my way. And when you mentioned your money, I thought you were joking."

Castiel instantly felt contrite. He just wanted this to be easy between them, wanted to have that happy anticipation they had experienced beforehand. He tried to make amends.

"Then I don't want the money I gave you back. You need it, Dean. And I don't, I still live with my brothers, Michael is suing Luke and Meg but he's promised to look after me. I get why you got on with Michael now. It's an eldest brother thing, right?"

"It's because Michael wasn't an ass like I thought he'd be. He was rooting for you, he thought I made you happy."

Dean's tone had gone bitter, and Castiel wished he knew what Dean was thinking. He decided to explain himself more, so that maybe Dean could understand his viewpoint. Maybe then Dean would start opening up again.

"You did. And I admit, I didn't act in the best way possible. I lied to you."

Dean shot him an accusatory glance.

"Michael told you I was a fan. I was on the committee for the art award you won. I pushed for you. I'd seen you working, watching from a balcony as you pushed your creations into place. I've followed your career from afar for a while. And then Michael insisted I do all these functions and Luke said it was best if I stopped effectively stalking you, and I thought, maybe I could. Maybe if I invited you to come with me, it would mean I could stop just admiring you and start getting to know you."

"That's creepy." Dean murmured, staring at the pot of pencils on his desk. He still wasn't giving anything away about what he was thinking, how he felt, and Castiel felt the need to word-vomit rising.

"I know. I'm sorry. I said whatever I could to get you to come with me, whatever would make you want to spend time with me. And you were incredible, Dean. You took it so seriously; you just seemed to care about me. You fuelled my infatuation, however accidentally. Maybe I deserve all this, maybe this is my karma for forcing this situation."

"You know what, Cas?" Dean finally put the pencil he was toying with away, and glared in his direction. "If you had just said you liked me and wanted a date, if you had explained that we'd have to spend some time with your family but we'd have time to ourselves too? I would have said yes. I would have said it a lot faster. I told you I fall fast and hard, that I had for you. I liked you from the moment you saw through all the bullshit and joked that I would end up selling you my soldering iron."

Castiel had forgotten that confession. And Dean seemed to be forgetting how Castiel was, how bad his anxiety could get. There was no way, absolutely no way he could have asked Dean out. Dean had made it so difficult too, spending most of his time eyeballing his lunch. But saying that would have been too defensive, would have resulted in an argument that Castiel didn't want to be responsible for. He tried to explain how he had been feeling.

"You were funny, that first day. I was so nervous. You're so much more attractive in real life. And so much more complicated, passionate and thoughtful. And you can pretend you don't put the same thought into your work as other artists, but I know that's not true. I'm sorry Dean, that I didn't let this develop naturally. And I know you probably don't want to try again, but I would give anything for one more chance."

Dean looked away again.

"I don't know, Cas. Where's the guarantee you won't hurt me again? Because I couldn't live through this twice, even with Sam and Charlie looking out for me."

"I suppose it's in the fact that I have nothing else to lose now. There's no price on it this time. Just two men who are attracted to each other; who want a relationship with each other. Please, Dean. Just let me prove that I'm serious about you. Not the idea of you, but you."

"How are you going to prove that?" Dean was quiet, not giving anything away again.

"We'll go out, and money won't be an issue. And not because I'll cover everything, but because we won't do anything we have to pay for. You can date for free, right?"

Dean nodded, still not making eye contact.

"Fine. You can sleep in my bed tonight, and tomorrow you'll take me on a freebie date. And I'll decide after that."

Dean's tone and demeanour didn't seem promising, but the idea of sleeping next to each other again was more than Castiel had been hoping for.

"Thank you, Dean, thank you so much."

Dean's response was to pass him some clothes out of his own dresser for Castiel to sleep in. Castiel immediately began changing and Dean walked into his closet. He sniffed the shirt subtly, but it smelled of soap powder rather than Dean's natural scent. He slipped under the covers and turned to see Dean shaking a sleeping bag out onto the floor. Maybe Dean wasn't ready to lay beside him again, to hold each other as they slept. But the sheets carried his smell, and he snuggled under the blanket, looking at Dean as he got comfortable in the sleeping bag. He fell into the dip of the mattress, the one that matched Dean's pose, and he got comfortable there, still watching the man he loved.

Would it really have been possible, the first day they officially met, for Castiel to have explained who he was and how he knew about Dean? Would be have been able to ask Dean out? He had come a long way in the last few months, and he was back in therapy, but that first day with Dean it had been too hard. The artist had been too brittle, Castiel himself was too anxious and stressed out. And it had set the tone, Castiel hadn't known Dean was interested until Amara's birthday. As much as he needed to make amends, Dean needed to be more open as well, or else they would have no chance. Castiel had the sense that he'd already been given his answer, and it wasn't a good one. Dean was already over him.


	22. Chapter 22

He barely slept all night, wanting to memorise the smell of Dean, watching him as he slept, and thinking. Dean was curled up in his sleeping bag, snoring softly, his arm outside of the bag and hanging out in a way that didn't seem at all comfortable, reaching across to the desk, away from Castiel.

He looked around the room as the room began to get lighter in the early morning, making out the sketches that littered the walls, the few items that Dean owned that didn't relate to artwork like an old leather journal, photographs of a small boy with a pretty blonde lady that Castiel realised was his mother.

He turned over in bed and felt something hard under his foot. He sat up, and looked for what he had just kicked, and found a sketchbook. He wondered if Balthazar had been lying about the graphic pictures Dean had created, and opened it up, finding a drawing of Sam in incredible detail, his eyes wide and expressive, almost pleading. He remembered the text Dean had sent early on, describing Sam's eyes, and he supposed this was what Dean had captured. The next drawing was of Sam and Charlie laughing together, their faces transported. There were a few self-portraits that seemed serious, similar to Dean's face in the Time article, and Castiel supposed it must have been around the same time.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked sleepily from the floor. Castiel turned the page from the self-portrait and found a rendering of some pie, a slice removed from the tray. He hadn't been expecting that image. He answered Dean absent-mindedly.

"I woke up and found this digging into my foot. I wasn't expecting it, you're so tidy, and care so much about your artwork."

"There are sketchbooks all over the house. For whenever inspiration strikes. Doesn't mean you can look in them."

Castiel looked up from the sketchbook as he turned another page, and wondered whether Dean would ever even be civil to him again.

"But you're incredible, Dean, I keep telling you that. You don't just capture form; you put life into your drawings. This one of Charlie looks like a photograph."

He flipped another page, and found himself looking at his own image. Of how he must look when having an anxiety attack, there was so much fear in his eyes, his expression was tight, but there was a beauty to the picture too, as though despite his nerves he was one of the most attractive things Dean had ever seen. Dean himself was fighting to get out of the sleeping bag.

"Wow," he said softly, as Dean won his fight.

"Shut it."

"Is that what I look like to you?"

Maybe there was a chance that Dean would not only be reasonable, but they could start again. Dean's response was to fling himself across Castiel's legs, and the sketchbook, blocking Castiel's progress through the book.

"Dean, you're going to ruin the pages!"

It would be such a shame if his artwork got damaged.

"I told you to stop looking!"

Castiel paused, and risked a hand on Dean's shoulder blade. Maybe his determination that Castiel go no further was linked to those graphic images that Balthazar had mentioned. Castiel really wanted to see them - what had Dean been imagining?

"I didn't mean any harm. I'm honoured that you chose to sketch me."

"I'm going to get up. We're going to close the sketchbook. And you're not going to look in it ever again."

"What else is in there?"

Porn. There was definitely porn featuring the both of them.

"Nothing."

And Dean didn't want to admit to it … why? Because he was ashamed? Or he didn't want to lead Castiel on? And yet, he was laying across Castiel's legs still, seemingly unwilling to move despite his threats. Castiel threw caution to the wind and started massaging his scalp, enjoying the velvet of his hair rubbing against his fingertips, using his nails to apply just a little pressure. Dean seemed to sag under his touch, to relax and become docile. It was the first contact they had had since before the wedding. Maybe it was merely a case that Dean's shields were up and he was trying to protect his heart until this was a sure thing, until Castiel proved that he would listen to Dean first and no one else. He could start with the sketchbook, and just hope that one day, Dean would change his mind.

"Dean? Would you draw me? If I posed for you, I mean. I won't look at the sketchbook anymore."

Dean didn't answer immediately, and Castiel continued running his fingers through his hair, making himself wait, enjoying the way Dean bent into his touch.

"Later. Right now, I need breakfast."

He managed to stand up, clutching the book to himself, and closing it before Castiel could look in it any more, trying to hide it amongst other, similar books on the desk and headed out of the room. Castiel followed, respecting Dean's request, and found the kitchen full already of Sam, Charlie and Kevin. They all looked between himself and Dean, Sam and Charlie's gazes accusatory, Kevin's curious. Castiel wondered if any of them would believe that they hadn't even kissed, let alone slept together. He made himself sit down, and talk to Kevin as though it were an every day occurrence that he slept in Dean's house.

"Kevin, I'm going to be spending the day with Dean. It's probably best if you go back home. I'll make my own way back later."

His attempt at giving Kevin the day off was instantly met with criticism from Dean's sister.

"He didn't mean right this second," she stopped Kevin from standing up. "Eat, we'll hang out for a bit. I would personally give you the day off and arrange to meet back at the house afterwards, but I'm not a dick."

Dean looked around at him from the fridge.

"Why not? Kevin's done everything that's been asked of him. We kept him out all night, it's the least you could do."

Castiel nodded, and looked at Kevin, who seemed bewildered. He at least seemed to know what Castiel had meant.

"Okay. Kevin, have the day off. You can take the car as well."

Kevin gave an unsure smile, and looked at Charlie, beginning to make plans with her. Castiel's gaze drifted to Dean's back, to where he was preparing breakfast, and he caught the expression on Sam's face. It wasn't one that Dean had captured, but a knowing smile. As Charlie and Kevin left, Sam sat forward.

"You were right about the opera last night. Have you seen that one before?"

"Once, a few years ago."

"Amelia wasn't sure about it, but I thought it was interesting, how Faust ended up in Hell trying to save Marguerite."

"But it was worth it, to get Marguerite into Heaven."

Sam considered that for a moment, before standing up and taking his dishes to the sink, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean looked at him briefly, and then plated up what he was cooking, bringing a plate over to Castiel and sitting across the table from him.

* * *

Dean drove like he was made to sit behind the wheel. His entire posture was relaxed, casual. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other in the space between himself and Castiel. He had keen eyesight, and reacted quickly to hazards, but the ride felt smooth.

And the car, the beloved Impala that had appeared in Dean's article, that had towed the statue of his mother to the Novak's estate? It was as well cared for inside as it was outside. The leather upholstery looked as good as new, the dashboard looked like it was well preserved. This car had been given a lot of love and attention. It purred under Dean's control, like it loved the driver as much as he loved it. But like his artwork, Dean didn't talk endlessly about his car, his love for it was evident in the way he had kept it pristine, the looks he gave it as they climbed in, the way he seemed to become part of the car. Dean did indeed love fast and hard.

He seemed to be in a great mood, driving along, the windows down and the tape deck blaring. Dean crooned along, his singing voice just as perfect as his driving, his metalwork abilities, his talent for drawing. Castiel was on his guard so that he didn't pounce on Dean across the seat, ravishing the man who had only reluctantly agreed to a date. They were on their way to a creek that Dean knew, and Castiel hoped that Dean had packed swimming trunks for the both of them, or else they wouldn't really be able to do it. But they could maybe talk with their ankles in the water, he supposed.

Dean had already urged him to sing along to the tape, a loud artist that Castiel hadn't heard of blaring along, and he had explained that he hadn't heard of the music before. But eventually the tape ended and clicked off, and they fell into silence for a moment before Castiel began asking about the car.

"Why do you have tapes in the car anyway?"

There were devices that fit into tape decks that allowed you to still listen to your music on your phone, after all.

"Because you don't mess with a classic like Baby," Dean purred and stroked the car affectionately. Castiel should have expected the pet name. "Sam tries to douche her up with his iPod every now and then."

He didn't sound mad at his brother, instead he sounded warmer than ever. Like he couldn't have a bad mood in this car, or else he was beginning to forgive Castiel.

"Are they all old songs?"

"Yeah, songs I grew up on. Dad played them a lot."

"What happened to your father?"

Dean had spoken about him in the past tense. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel.

"He bailed on us. Raised the three of us on borrowed credit cards until the feds came after him. He ran, we moved here. He's still out there, somewhere. Don't mention it in front of the others, they're still mad. It almost cost Sam his job, just from the association."

Castiel had been so privileged. So incredibly fortunate. He had been allowed to grown up and form interests and indulge in them, to internalise and not force himself to get over it in order to put food on the table. He had never had to graft, or go without to help his siblings. And Dean had not, and he hadn't been able to protect his siblings from that, either.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Yeah. What about your folks? What happened with them?"

Castiel blinked rapidly. No one ever asked about Charles and Anna Novak these days, not unless they were asking Michael about his progress with their case.

"They disappeared a few years ago. Technically, we can't declare them dead yet, although we've been given control of the assets left to us due to some legal loophole. They might come back, I don't know."

"Do you want them back?"

No one had asked that question. But Castiel supposed that Dean would understand his answer more than most people would, and that was perhaps why they never asked for his opinion. Because why wouldn't he want his parents to come home?

"I don't know. It's been the five of us for so long, and even then we're greatly disjointed. Maybe it would be good if they came back, but it could just complicate everything as well. I'm surprised you don't know what happened."

The newspaper articles were burned into his mind. He hadn't left the house for months because of the media frenzy outside. Everyone wanted to know what happened when Charles and Anna Novak went on an altruistic trip to help those in the Amazon and never came back. There were suggestions that the brothers had collaborated in killing their parents in order to get their hands on their inheritance, but they had never needed to do that. Castiel had been too young to have been a part of that, he had relied on his parents greatly. Only Michael had really braved the media frenzy when it occurred.

"I was never an avid follower of your family," Dean reminded him gently. "But it sucks they just disappeared."

"So did your dad," Castiel said quietly, as Dean parked the car in a field near a copse of trees.

"Sucks to have that in common."

Dean was looking at him, his expression kind, and open. The understanding seemed to flow, intangible and unspoken, in the air between them. Dean reached across and patted his arm, sending tingles all over his skin.

"Com on. I'll grab the tent and the food, you get the clothes and the sleeping bags."

Castiel climbed out of the car and had to move quickly to grab the bags Dean threw at him, shouldering them awkwardly and following Dean's path through the trees until they came to clearing beside a small waterfall, with a stream running towards the field they had parked in. He listen to the chatter of birds hidden in the leaves and the babble of the water falling into the small lake as Dean started dumping bags. He put the bags he had been carrying down, and headed over to the water, watching the progress of the waterfall, the foam at the bottom as it disturbed the lake. He could hear Dean moving poles about, and the scritch of canvas being manipulated, but he didn't know the first thing about putting a tent together and didn't want to get in the way.

"Be careful!" Dean called over to him. "Some of those rocks can be slippery."

Castiel tested the ground underneath his feet, and found the stone smooth and slightly worn. He took off his shoes and socks, and rolled up his jeans to sit down and put his feet into the water. It was cool and pleasant, swirling around his toes, seeing the pebbles under the water, the occasional fish swimming by. Dean soon sat beside him, also barefoot, his own jeans rolled up, and he too dipped his feet into the running water.

"I thought you might find the outdoors a little more difficult." Dean told him.

"We have a lot of grounds. When we were younger, we used to sleep at the edge of the property where we have a small lake. Of course, we had a small cabin out there and we had jet skis on the lake, but it was like camping out."

"That's nothing like it," Dean chuckled. He still seemed to be in a good mood, and Castiel wanted to keep that going. He figured that, maybe if they carried on getting to know each other better, he might stand more of a chance at getting back in Dean's good books.

"What was it like when you came here with your brother and sister?"

"Charlie's a total water bug so she'd already be swimming. When we were younger she would pretend to be a mermaid who lived in the waterfall. Sam would always bring a book and sit in a tree reading for hours. And I'd set up the tents and get a campfire going and play in the water with Charlie. We'd make s'mores and try to scare the crap out of Sam with horror stories and then go to bed and not be able to sleep because we freaked ourselves out. It's kind of one of my favourite places to come."

It made Castiel smile, picturing what it must have been like when the Winchesters were in this space, comfortable with who they were and how they connected. Dean picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it across the water, and Castiel watched its progress, counting the amount of bounces before it landed. And then he stuck his hand in the water, grabbing a pebble and trying to do the same thing. There was the sound of water displacing, and the pebble sank as Dean laughed.

"It's all in the wrist. Look," he grabbed another pebble, and pressed it into Castiel's hand. The contact drew his entire attention, the tingles along his skin were almost painful, his heart started beating in double time, and yet Dean didn't let go. He was looking at their hands as he manipulated Castiel's fingers around the pebble, his gaze was almost studious. Could he feel it too? Was he touching Castiel unnecessarily, just to have the contact? Was he afraid of what would happen if they did make eye contact then?

Dean thrust his hand out, and Castiel felt the pebble slip out of his hand, watching it skitter across the water. And then Dean was gone from his side, heading into the tent, and Castiel went back to watching the waterfall, feeling naked where Dean had touched him. A minute or so later, there was a blur of tan, and a huge splash in the water. Dean surfaced, and rubbed his face clear of water, smiling over at Castiel.

"Are you coming in or what? I thought this was what you wanted?"

Castiel grinned at him, and got up from the rock, retrieving his socks and shoes and stowing them in the tent, pulling his t-shirt off. He saw Dean's boxers in a pile with his jeans, and peeked out of the tent flap, trying to spot Dean. Was he skinny dipping? Did he want Castiel to do the same? He could feel the anxiety building, the nerves churning in his stomach. His fingers fumbled on the opening of his jeans, and he closed his eyes as he pushed them down, his underwear too. And before he could second guess himself, or overthink it, before he could feel self-conscious, he started running towards the pool and dived neatly, the cold of the water ending it abruptly. He flailed his way to the surface.

"The water's cold!" He gasped, and Dean laughed beside him. Castiel splashed him, and he splashed back, the water flying between them as Dean continued to laugh. Castiel managed to grab Dean's arm, to stop him splashing, and they both sobered up instantly. Castiel stroked Dean's bicep, loving the feeling of his wet skin, and Dean put his other arm around his back, pulling them so close together that their chests nearly touched. Castiel's breath began to hitch again, as Dean nuzzled against his nose.

"Still cold?"

Castiel's veins were on fire. Dean was being so flirty as they trod water together. Castiel took the risk and put his arm around Dean's neck.

"Warming up," he answered. He could feel Dean's breath against his face, their feet kept brushing against each other, Castiel was very aware of the fact that they were both naked. And though he wanted Dean desperately, he was enjoying this moment of anticipation, being close to Dean once again. His Dean.

"Yeah, me too."

Dean gave it a few more seconds before he tugged Castiel closer, kissing him with a moan as they pressed against each other, Dean's body warm and slippery and glorious against his own, his mouth less urgent than their last kiss, more tentative, lingering and slow and delicious. Castiel kissed over his face, and returned to his lips, running his hand over Dean's back, his heart thrumming so fast it caught Castiel's breath. Dean still had one arm around his back, and he was cupping Castiel's face with his other hand, keeping them together, locking them into yet another kiss that Castiel never wanted to leave. But this time it wasn't out of desperation, and more because he had missed Dean so much, had thought this would never happen again, and wanted to relish every moment.

The kiss ended abruptly, as heavy droplets fell near-constantly onto his head. Dean laughed at they broke apart, and pulled him out of the deluge of the waterfall, and into the cavern behind it. They leaned against the slimy rocks of the edge of the cavern, and resumed kissing, Dean's hands beginning to caress over Castiel's chest, and his stomach, and slowly made their way lower … and Castiel gasped loudly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go from nothing to full sex straight away. He wanted a relationship, not a dirty weekend. Dean immediately stopped kissing him, realising that something wasn't right.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Are we back together?"

Dean looked at him, into his eyes, and time seemed to stand still for just a moment, before Dean came even closer.

"Yeah, we are. If you still want it."

If he still wanted it? Did Dean really think his feelings flipped that quickly?

"I do. But um," he looked away, not wanting to see Dean's reaction. "I don't think we should have sex here. Someone might walk past."

"I've never seen anyone out here."

"Well, okay. But still, can we hold off from sex? Just for a little while. I know we're both naked out here, but I want you to trust me, I don't want to rush this."

Dean took his hand, and raised it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, a silent agreement to Castiel's request.

* * *

They finally got sick of the water, the cold of the pool getting to their systems and their kissing no longer able to combat it. Castiel's mouth felt tender as they settled naked on the rocks beside the pool, although Dean moved again fairly quickly, heading into the tent. Castiel watched him go, but he was back in moments, still completely naked, but holding one of his sketchbooks and a pencil. Castiel watched him, wondering if that was the book he had been caught with that morning.

"You wanted me to draw you?"

Castiel tried to pose, arching his back and leaning back, but Dean shook his head.

"Don't pose. Just be natural, or you're going to kill your elbows." He sat cross-legged on a rock, the sketchbook across his lap, and Castiel tried to find a comfortable position. Eventually he rested his head on his arms, laying on his back, and he pretended that he were sunbathing, and not being drawn naked by the man he was crazy about. He prayed that he wasn't going to get aroused during the sitting, because it would be even more awkward to lay there with an erection while Dean drew. He tried to focus on other things, like the caress of the breeze against his skin, and the smooth slipperiness of the lichen-covered stone beneath him, the fluttering of the leaves in the trees above him, the babble of the water and the whisper of the pencil across paper. He could close his eyes and take a nap easily with that kind of serenity.

"So, how's it going with your brothers?" Dean broke the quiet conversation of nature around them.

"What do you mean?"

"Balthazar letting you borrow his clothes. Michael fighting for you. Luke setting you up. I don't know, doesn't that change things?"

"Are we really talking about this when we're both naked?"

Castiel looked across at Dean, who smirked back, the pencil relaxed in his hand.

"Yep. Laying everything bare."

It had been nice, just talking with Dean, getting to know each other the way that Castiel had wanted to for so long. He allowed it, as bizarre as it was to be talking about his brothers when he was completely naked. If anything was guaranteed to stop him from getting aroused, however, it was probably this topic.

"Well, Gabriel and Balthazar would definitely be impressed we were doing this right now. We've been talking a lot more since my marriage dissolved. Balthazar hated Meg."

"He called her awful. Never explained why he thought that."

"Probably something from when we were kids," Castiel deflected the topic. Balthazar and Meg had always been abrasive, but Castiel had always thought it was their way of bonding with each other. "Anyway, Balth and Gabe aren't so bad. They took me away for a week when I first got the divorce papers, we stayed at a private island Gabe owns and I sulked on the beach the entire time, missing you, drowning my sorrows in Pina Coladas."

"You're a girl drink drunk!" Dean crowed. Castiel didn't point out that they were foisted onto him by his brothers. "And shit out of luck, I only brought beer."

"I like beer," Castiel said diplomatically. He fought the urge to shift on the rock, his muscles starting to feel tight from lack of movement, and he peeked at Dean, who was almost managing to draw without looking at the paper. His gaze was focused on Castiel. But it didn't feel lustful, it felt like Castiel were a prop and Dean was as turned on as he would have been by a lump of cheese while he was in the zone. Castiel carried on talking.

"I think I understand Michael a lot more. Without our parents, he feels a lot of strain. He's running their businesses, searching for them, and looking out for the rest of us. As much pressure I felt from him, he feels it worse. I'm going to take it all more seriously from now on. He's training me up on a couple of our businesses, I'll take over as CEO soon."

"Make your money back in no time."

"I'm not too fussed about the money," Castiel lied. It was one thing to admit it to himself, another to admit the truth out loud. "I mean, it almost cost me you, it cost me my best friend, and it nearly split my family. I'm taking on the work to help my brother, not get my money back. Luke and Meg are welcome to that money, if they think it will make them happy. And I'll work on my relationships with my other brothers. And you."

Dean smiled and continued with the picture in silence for a few more moments.

"So, awkward question. You were saying that you helped me get that award. That you've known about my work for years. Has any of my work been real? Like, my success? Michael raised the price tag I can attach; we're doing good since he bought the cog guy. But it still makes me wonder … I mean, am I really good enough?"

Dean's vulnerability was glaringly obvious at that moment, and Castiel hated that he'd done that to the man he loved.

"Yes. Of course you are, Dean. I was on the committee, you were the artist I nominated, but after that it was a cake walk. We all had to look at each artist's work and rate them separately. You won by a mile, Dean. You earned it."

"Why didn't we meet before, then?"

"I was intimidated. I couldn't think of a reason to talk to you, didn't want to be the kind of fan you would be polite to but ultimately pass off."

Dean gave that adorable smirk and stopped looking at his progress.

"Castiel, you're gorgeous. I probably would have hit on you shamelessly. I was holding back our first couple of dates. Mainly because you thought I was straight and I didn't think you were interested."

Castiel was about to tell him about the auction, but Dean stood up, showing him the picture. At the incredible detail that looked like it had cost Dean no effort but captured the sunlight reflecting off the water, the way it moved across the pebble riverbed. And Castiel himself was drawn exquisitely. Dean had somehow made his anxiety obvious, as well as the trust Castiel had in him. His muscles seemed defined, his eyes seemed to sparkle like the river, and Dean had quite possibly been too generous with his genitalia.

"Done." Dean pronounced unnecessarily.

"Dean, this is …" Castiel felt speechless. Instead, he pulled Dean closer for a kiss, and Dean began laughing.

"Come on, it's getting cold, and I'm getting hungry." Dean headed back into the tent, and Castiel sat up, still looking at the picture. Dean's feelings were there on the page, Castiel didn't feel half as gorgeous as Dean had made him seem in the etching. When Dean left the tent, dressed this time, and began making a fire, Castiel got up and walked into the tent himself, pulling his own clothes - well, Balthazar's - back on and emerging from the tent still holding the sketchbook, looking at the picture of himself, picking out even more details. It really hadn't taken Dean long at all and yet it was incredible. Dean put something into the fire and sat beside him on a tree trunk that made for a pretty good bench.

"This was a really good date, Dean. Thank you."

"It's okay. And it's not over yet."

Castiel leaned into him, feeling Dean's arm wrap around his back automatically.

"Good. I'm not ready for it to end."

Dean kissed his temple, and Castiel took a measured risk, turning the pages of the notebook. Dean didn't stop him, watching the fire as Castiel took his time looking through the pictures. After that first image of Castiel, he found several more; in a tuxedo, their hands woven together, Castiel laughing, Castiel looking away into the distance with a somewhat dreamy expression. And then a picture of them kissing, Dean's hands inside his pants. He gasped, realising that Balthazar had been correct. And pretty reserved in his explanation, because the pictures started to get more and more graphic. There were hand jobs, blow jobs, anal sex in different positions, all interspersed with pictures of tyre treads, or moments Castiel remembered from their dates … he put the sketchbook onto the bench gently, then grabbed the front of Dean's shirt and pulled him into a frantic kiss, where they stayed until an acrid smell filled the air, and Dean untangled himself to save their meal. As they began to eat, Castiel resumed the conversation from the sitting.

"You were wrong, by the way."

"About what?" Dean asked around his mouthful.

"About holding off our first few dates. It was just the first one."

"I guess I don't remember the auction. I didn't think I was that drunk."

"You weren't," Castiel said quietly. "I thought maybe your drink was spiked, but I didn't want to say anything if it wasn't true. It's been confirmed recently though. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Why, did you do it?"

"No. Michael looked into it, our now-ex head of housekeeping was effectively Luke's drug mule. Michael's lawyers found a paper trail, the bottle was in his quarters, opened and used. He claimed he had insomnia and knew it was a strong, short-term use drug."

"Wait, what? Like, Rohypnol or something?"

"It's known as that." Castiel felt like crying, having to have this conversation with him. "I feel so awful, Dean. And I realised too late that you were acting out of character. At first it was wonderful, we were joking about one of the lots, a weekend in Paris, and you tried to show off what French you knew and then we were kissing. But when they announced the winners," Castiel sighed.

"Charlie filled me in on that part. We made out?"

"Yeah. I didn't know you weren't yourself. You were being adorable."

"Not that again," Dean shook his head. "So, what did I say? Bonjour, j'mappelle Dean?"

"You ordered a baguette. And then I said I wished you were really mine, and you didn't seem to understand. But you quoted Moulin Rouge at me."

"And it worked like a charm." Dean grinned for a moment, before it slid off his face. "I wish I remembered."

"Me too. It was one of my favourite parts of those dates. I hate that it was such a good time, and you weren't really there. I hate that he did that to you, that he drugged you and when I said I thought someone had tampered with your drink he acted like I was crazy. Michael's suing him for it, but if you wanted to take action just say and I will help you fight it with everything I've got."

Dean was silent, watching the flames of the fire, a tic going in his cheek.

"I'll ask Sam if there's anything we can do." He said quietly.

"Are you angry?"

"Yes. But not with you. Maybe you could have told me earlier, but I guess if your brothers had already made you feel like a jerk about it then why would you?"

"I didn't have any proof. I didn't know you well enough to know if it was a regular thing for you to act like that. All I knew was that you were so different to how you had been. You forgot all about my anxiety and forced me into the spotlight and I guess that flustered me too. But that's not an excuse, I know."

Dean put a hand on his arm.

"Look, Cas, I'm not blaming you. But I wanna be part of it, taking Luke down. For drugging me, for making you feel like crap, for splitting us up, all of it. And if he weasels out of it somehow, I wanna be the one to kick his ass."

"It's the least we could give you," Castiel nodded.

"Okay. It's getting dark now, we should get into bed."

Castiel understood it as Dean wanting to leave the topic alone, and he gave him the space to mull it over, to work out his feelings on the matter. They slowly finished their food, and Dean put out the fire as Castiel picked up the sketchbook, then they both climbed into the tent. Dean zipped their sleeping bags together and they both stripped down to their underwear before climbing in and cuddling up to each other.

"Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"What did Luke say to you? At Amara's birthday meal."

"He said you were irrelevant and I was too old for a rebellious phase. But you're not, you'll never be irrelevant."

"And you're the least rebellious person ever. What an ass."

"You can see why he needed Meg for his plans. He said that, and we ended up kissing in the car."

"Mmmm, that was a good kiss." Dean nuzzled into his hair. "Damn, I love your hair. It's so messy, like you've just been fucked."

"I haven't been fucked since you were on my boat."

Dean started laughing, his body shaking and doing interesting things to Castiel's own body.

"Touché. So, you never did it with Meg?"

"No. She tried, but it wasn't … I married her because I was trying to protect myself when I thought you were no longer interested. I've never been interested in Meg."

"And you didn't- you didn't propose on your yacht?"

"No. Only two people have been on that boat and they're both in this tent. She negotiated it in that old art museum near Main Street."

"So what she said about your yacht?"

"Lucky guess. And we agreed that maybe telling people we were marrying for convenience and expectation wasn't a great story. I let her say whatever she wanted. I didn't care."

"I should have just asked what was up with your cell."

"I would have said you were the one not texting."

"But we would have worked it out. We could have stopped all this crap happening. I could have avoided missing you for months, thinking I was falling for someone else's husband."

"I kept hoping you would save me from myself."

"I would never have forced you to leave, Cas."

"And that's why I want you."

Dean kissed his forehead again, and started to snore lightly moments later. Castiel snuggled into his chest, and tried to stay awake, to enjoy the feel of Dean's skin against his own once again.

* * *

In the morning, Castiel woke to the press of Dean's lips in his hair, the squeeze of his arms around Castiel's torso. They spent a few countless lazy minutes kissing, exploring each others bodies with their hands once again. Eventually, Dean rolled away from him, stroking his hair fondly.

"So, are we ever going to have the ex talk?"

"The ex talk?"

Dean nodded.

"Telling each other our exes."

"Okay well … there was April when I was sixteen. Socialite, debutante. Her father was a diplomat. Our mothers organised it. We lost our virginities to each other, but it never felt right. Like there was something missing. She ran away with this guy to Buenos Aires after it seemed like she was using me for my money. My more valuable possessions were found at her property. And then there was Fergus, who was the guy who showed me that it was okay to be gay. It was nice while it lasted, I learned a lot about myself, but he turned out to be a social climber. Found someone else who was more willing to spend hundreds of thousands on him in a day. Not as rich as me, but more willing to be in the spotlight, more willing to blow their fortune. I heard he moved on when the cash ran out. And then I saw you."

"That's it?"

"There were a few other guys I was interested in. Bartholemew, Uriel, Brady, but Meg always found some dirt on them, or they thought I wasn't interested because of her. What about you?"

"Um, First there was Ash. Mullet, great taste in music. He could hook us up with alcohol anytime because he helped in this bar, cash-in-hand. Dated him for the music and the wicked sense of humour. Then there was a little awkwardness because his friend Jo hit on me and I kind of, you know, I slept with her. Dick move, I know. I wasn't sure if I was gay, you know, and Jo was one of the guys, and she was hot. Um, then there was Garth, internet hook up. He was kind of an oddball but he grew on you. Just got too clingy for me, in the end. Compared to how much I liked him. And that's saying something. And then it was all just casual stuff, up until you."

Castiel frowned.

"I thought you were with that Benny."

Dean's face fell, and looked sickly in the gloom of the tent.

"You know about Benny?"

"The first time I saw you, he was helping you with that egg-shaped statue, complaining that it wasn't made of marshmallows. Then when I was assessing some of the other art, he said it was like Picasso and you said no-"

"That was you?"

"Yes. One of the committee. Not caring what you were saying, just listening to your voice, trying to work out what there was between you."

Dean gave a heavy sigh and rolled onto his back, looking at the roof of the tent.

"I liked him. I thought we were going somewhere, you know? I asked him to come when they announced that award ceremony and he refused. Sam came in the end, tried to make me feel better. And a couple days later I saw Benny with some chick. He did it on purpose, making sure I saw them together, introduced her as his girlfriend so I got the hint. I felt like an ass, swore off guys … and then this gorgeous guy appears and I think he's hitting on me. Offers me money to go out with him, but that's not what's got me. It's the chance he's giving me, to be with someone who might like me. And even if he doesn't, I like him. But he did like me," Dean gave a small smile. "It's you, by the way."

"I thought it was."

"Benny doing that was the best thing that could've happened to me, even though I felt like death at the time. Charlie and Sam, they were worried it was happening all over again with you. But you helped me get over it. And it would be shitty to think of you hitting on me if I was seeing Benny, having to turn you down. I need this to be the real thing, Cas."

"It is."

"I hope so. I'm not going to go to any functions or whatever for a while though. I think we need some time before that happens."

"Time to do things like, show you around my house?"

"Let me at those jet skis."

Castiel laughed.

"More board games at your place with Sam and Charlie."

Dean looked at him, and stroked his face with the back of his hand, his expression tender.

"Can't think of anything better."

"Me either."

Castiel rolled over, onto Dean, and kissed him passionately.

"Think it's time we re-enact some of your artwork."

"Deal." Dean grinned, and pulled him down, their bodies flush against each other.

* * *

 **One chapter left ...**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you for all the reviews, likes and follows since I started writing and posting this, it's meant a lot to me. Especially as, when I started I thought I maybe experienced a little social anxiety and throughout writing it, along with other things happening in my life, I began to realise I had a lot in common with the Castiel I wrote into this story. I'm not as bad, but I'm worse than I was thinking. I've learned to hide it better than Castiel, to fight it better. It's been interesting to learn that about myself as I wrote.**

* * *

A lot had happened in the six months since Dean had taken Castiel back. He had opened his own non-profit gallery showcasing local contemporary artists - with a large display of Dean's work - and taken over one of the family businesses, one that Luke had been in charge of until the dissolution of Castiel's marriage. The business had been in a mess, and Castiel had needed Michael's help as well as their lawyers to get things straightened out, but it was finally working well. His therapy was going well this time around, and he almost felt confident at times. And best of all, Dean had moved into the Novak mansion. Sam and Charlie had moved in as well, a few floors away from Castiel's wing in an attempt to give them privacy. Waking up to Dean every morning, falling asleep with him every night was still as magical as that night in the tent. Seeing their families co-existing into one large unit was wonderful. Michael had given Charlie her own job, Sam had left his practice to go and work with the other lawyers the Novaks hired, which paid better and gave more challenging work for him to sink his teeth into. Castiel was enjoying getting to know Dean's siblings, and gaining their trust.

Dean had agreed to attend some of the necessary functions with Castiel finally, after leaving it a good four months before donning a tuxedo again. They had left Charlie and Sam at home as they went in a limousine with Castiel's brothers and Amara. They were holding hands as they sat beside each other and for once, Castiel was just enjoying the sensation of Dean's skin against his own without thinking about what their handholding would mean or signal to others, or clinging on to his boyfriend like a lifeline. There was no double meaning to the way their fingers interlaced and their palms rested against each other.

They made their way inside, and Dean squeezed his fingers gently.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay," Castiel nodded. Dean smiled, and kissed his temple.

"Okay. Give me the signal if it changes."

They had agreed early on in their newly-reinstated relationship that should Castiel feel an anxiety attack coming on he would give a simple signal and Dean would step in to help. It was something Castiel could do even as the panic took over, something Dean had noticed in the very early days of knowing each other. Castiel merely had to look at the floor, standing completely still, for a count of five and Dean would try to ease him out of the attack. Even if they were arguing, Dean had promised it would come first, though they were yet to have an argument since getting back together.

Balthazar pushed his way between them and forced glasses into their hands.

"Darlings, this is going to be dreary enough without being sober as well. Drink up! And Dean, if you need a little TLC later," he winked and moved on. Dean shook his head and bent close to Castiel's ear.

"Not even if I was so drunk I couldn't walk."

"Cheating on me with my brother would be quite a low."

"Only one Novak for me."

Castiel felt his heart swell in his chest.

"Only one person for me."

Dean pulled him into a kiss, which was interrupted swiftly by another guest.

"Well, well, well. I suppose it's no surprise you went crawling back to him."

Castiel felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. His muscles seized up, and he turned away from Dean to see Meg, who looked as flawless as always. Castiel felt sick, seeing his ex-wife, having her approach them so boldly when she had caused so much upset. Remembering how she tried to coerce him into sleeping with her, how she lied and made out Dean was anything less than the wonderful person he was. How she rinsed Castiel and acted like it was all his fault.

"Ruined anyone else's life lately?" Dean asked her. She barely acknowledged him, merely raising an eyebrow at Castiel.

"You make it sound like you had nothing to do with it." Castiel observed, his voice steady and bold. He was not going to regress just because she was there.

"Wow, you're both bitter."

"I wonder why. Maybe because you told my boyfriend I was out for his money then stole it all yourself?" Dean's voice carried as well. People nearby were beginning to look over, and Castiel didn't even mind. Instead, he could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. At least once they had successfully sued Luke for drugging Dean, profiteering from embezzling in their various companies and retrieved some of Castiel's fortune he had the good sense to leave America and lose contact with his brothers. The last Castiel heard, he was somewhere in China, trying to create his own fortune. Meg showing up when she knew the four other Novak brothers would be attending was so … so … _arrogant_.

"Or knowing enough about me to use it to your own ends. Making me paranoid about Dean and convincing me that marrying you would ever be a solution." Castiel dropped his voice and stepped closer, the burn of everyone's eyes heating the back of his neck. "I had real problems, and you made them worse. I don't regret marrying you, I don't even regret trusting you with my money. But I sure as hell regret ever thinking you were anything like my friend."

"Those are some big words," Meg patronised, and finally acknowledged Dean. "I hope you enjoy your sexless relationship with this one. He's big on celibacy."

"Uh-huh. Bye already." Dean slipped a hand around Castiel's elbow, adding enough pressure that Castiel knew he wanted to go. "Come on, Cas, she already proved she wasn't worth it when she stole your money and tried to get a divorce before she got caught."

Castiel let Dean lead him away, and over to Michael and Amara, who looked at Castiel with concern.

"Do you want me to speak to her?" Michael asked immediately. "She has some gall to show up when everyone knows she used you."

It had been unavoidable that everyone discovered what had transpired. It had been awful having to go to some of these events and hearing people whispering, having them outright asking him for sordid details, especially at a time when Dean wasn't ready to come too. He had stuck close to Balthazar and Gabriel at those functions, and they had lightened the mood enough for Castiel to manage until he could fold himself into Dean's arms later that night.

"You don't have to do that, Michael." Castiel decided. "Look."

They turned and watched the room, as everyone discreetly turned their backs on Meg when she approached them. Even the waiters seemed to naturally avoid her on their rounds.

"No one wants her to damage any part of their lives. She's ostracised herself."

They watched as she bristled, and stormed out of the room. There was a slow murmur of chatter which Castiel only just noticed had been missing.

"I wonder if she thinks ruining her only friendship was worth that isolation?" Amara pondered.

"I don't care," Castiel shook his head. "I have something better now."

He smiled at Michael, before glancing at Dean. Dean was just watching him, that poker face in place. But Castiel knew it now, knew that Dean was merely waiting to see how Castiel was, to take his cue from his boyfriend. Castiel stepped closer to him, tucking himself under Dean's arm.

"You're doing better," Dean nodded. "I thought you'd be in a meltdown by now."

"With you and my brothers here?"

Dean smiled warmly, as Michael clapped Castiel on the shoulder.

'We'll give you two some time by yourselves."

Michael and Amara walked away, and Dean twisted around to stand face-to-face with him.

"I'm proud of you."

"Thanks."

Dean smiled, and whispered in his ear.

"And I guess I'll get used to being celibate."

"Ahem. Last night?"

"Mmmm, remind me later."

Castiel laughed as someone approached them, already talking shop and seemingly not caring that he was interrupting their moment. But this time Castiel didn't mind, actually happy to engage in conversation about stocks and shares and company performance. It was so much easier with Dean there. He felt so much freer without people like Meg bringing him down, with the way his therapy was progressing, with the trust he and Dean had in each other. The night would pass, faster than Castiel anticipated, and then he would be in his boyfriend's arms where he loved to be the most.


End file.
